Learning to Breathe
by Floralia
Summary: Sometimes saving a life is just the beginning of the story.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Learning to Breathe

Summery: Sometimes saving a life is just the beginning of the story.

Disclaimer: So not mine that I've only just started Season 4.

Warnings: Some language in later chapters, but nothing major. Attempted suicide. It's an outsider POV but both Sam and Dean get their turn in the spotlight eventually.

A/N: This was supposed to be a one-shot but it developed a bit of a life of its own and just kept growing. It's ended up 8 chapters and an epilogue long, so please bear with me. Thanks to Sendintheclowns for the beta, and to her and gidgetgal9 for reassuring me I wasn't going completely off course with this.

Set some time early Season 2.

Part One

The night was so dark that it matched his mood. Made his purpose clearer. He could barely see a thing, but there was nothing left that he wanted to see. Without Thom there was no point any more.

He used to love this park. They used to love this park. They used to love. He knew it, but he wasn't sure he could feel it any more. Could remember what it was like. What it felt like to _feel_. There was just this gaping void inside him where those emotions used to live, and he couldn't help but wonder absently if he was better off that way. If the pain of not feeling, not understanding, was more tolerable by far than the pain of it all being real.

But it was real. He carried his lover's coffin today and the aches in his shoulders let him know that it was true, a mouth stiff from politely smiling, eyes too tired now to cry. Alone here in the dark he could find some comfort in his forgetting, but in the bright light and the bustle of tomorrow he would be able to hide no more. Life must go on, and he must find a way to go on with it.

And that was something he'd been finding it increasingly hard to do. Even before Thom. But now he was rudderless. Now he had lost even the basic will to survive.

The night was dark and the darkness hid its secrets. Kept them from him. Denied them the why. They'd been to this spot a thousand times before; alone, together; to think, to laugh, to love, to cry. And now that had been taken from him. The security this place once offered had been lost, but his connection to it, like their connection to each other, was as strong as ever.

Thom died here. Cal's dreams died here. It seemed only fitting that he die here too.

He'd never fired a gun before. He'd barely even held one, let alone thought he would come to own one, but that was another legacy that Thom had left him. It seemed only fitting really; he provided Cal with the means to follow, and it seemed only right that he do it here, where it all came crashing so violently to an end.

A mugging. Or an animal attack. No-one seemed willing to commit to an explanation, but Cal had been the one to identify the body and they'd had to hold a close casket service. The darkness was so complete, the night still with silence, that it seemed impossible to believe it could happen so close to here. Impossible if Cal didn't know he lacked the imagination to dream up that level of damage. That senseless violence.

He wasn't worried that whatever it was might come back. If he was really in any danger the authorities would have closed the park, and maybe he liked the element of uncertainty. The possible threat. Felt closer to Thom in it. Because Thom hadn't been expecting it either. And after the agony his lover had been forced to endure, just maybe a bullet to the brain felt like a coward's way out.

The gun was cool and solid in his hands, heavier than he'd expected, a weight he didn't know if he could carry. And he hated himself for his own uncertainty. It should be an easy choice to make. On paper, there was no decision, just fact. The blinding certainty that Cal could _not_ live with that void.

But his shaking hand showed he didn't have the courage to die with it either.

He prayed for certainty. For guidance. For a way out, whether it was onwards or not. He just knew that after sharing his all for three years, he couldn't now do this alone. And yet there was no-one else to do it for him.

There was a rustling in the undergrowth on the rise above him, but he didn't let that distract him from finding his purpose. There might be someone out walking on the slope above him. They would hear the shot, find his body, but they would be too late to make that count. He wondered who would be the one to identify his remains. If there would be someone as lost as he was now come daybreak. But he already knew the answer. If there were, he wouldn't be here now.

He raised the gun to his temple as the rustling behind him grew louder and he closed his eyes, fingers squeezing lightly on the trigger. He cast his soul up with a prayer. It was out of his hands now, his fingers cramping past the point of no return. He would live or die according to God's will.

There was a thundering on the path behind him, a growl, and something solid collided with his shoulder. The gun went off but the impact had knocked his aim clear, the bullet firing harmlessly into the distance, the gun falling from his hand, lost in the darkness.

And he was falling, propelled onwards down the slope, rolled by an unknown weight. The first gunshot so close to his ear had been deafening but it was followed by another and another, which made no sense because the gun was no longer even in his hand, and there was no-one left to pull the trigger.

He came to a stop on his back with the wind knocked out of him, head pounding so hard on the packed earth that the world spun. There was a weight solid and firm across his chest, something hard and angular poking his stomach and side and he cried out, and his voice was not the only one he could hear. There were grunts of pain in his ear, warm breath in his neck, and a howling from behind him - part otherworldly and part human terror.

The ground shook beneath him with the passing of some mammoth heavy stride, and the form on top of him struggled for purchase.

"Stay down!" and gunfire, and the body pinning him dropped its dead weight against him so hard and fast Cal couldn't be sure it wasn't the thing being riddled with bullets. But there was a roaring and a growling overhead, a rushing wind above him, passing in swift motion, and an unearthly stench. Then there was a soft thud, and an impact with the ground that made the earth vibrate beneath him.

Then the world fell silent.

"Sam!"

He could hear erratic footsteps in the distance, the whipping of leaves and undergrowth, heavy breathing and that same panicked cry.

"Sammy!"

The weight pinning him moved and let Cal know that he'd closed his eyes in the confusion and terror. He wasn't really sure he wanted to know what had collided with him, but the scent of decay was overwhelming and there was breath tickling his ear and the manic footsteps were getting nearer, and the irony wasn't lost on Cal that some form of self preservation was kicking in meaning he wanted to know. Wanted to be able to shift the dead weight crushing him, but his arms were pinned.

He opened his eyes to a mass of hair tickling his chin and he lifted his aching head off the ground to take in a pale furrowed brow, then two dark deep eyes flicking dazedly around him, widening in surprise and alarm when they came to rest on his own.

They stared at each other for several long seconds, practically nose to nose, and Cal felt the panic leave him and his breathing settle and he took in the apparition in front of him. Strong defiant jaw, worried expression, thick hair and soul filled eyes peering out beneath a mop of a fringe. There was a bruise forming on his right cheek that made him look vulnerable and young, but the weight still pressing down on him and the yards of limbs still tangled with his own told Cal that small and vulnerable would not be adjectives usually used to describe this man.

But it was his eyes that made Cal pause. Made his breath catch in the back of his throat with the stirrings of emotion he'd been longing for all day, but that had so far been absent. There was a deep rooted sorrow and longing in their depth. They seemed worried and trapped, but they looked at Cal with confusion and something close to recognition, causing something deep down within him to ach.

"God, sorry," the figure breathed, shaking his head, breaking eye contact and the spell Cal had been under. The crushing weight lifted and with it all the night's warmth. The world came rushing back, carrying the sound of running.

"Sammy."

It was more of a relieved whisper than the primal scream it had been, and the remaining weight was wrenched from him leaving Cal feeling unaccountably empty and cold. The running figure dropped to his knees at Cal's side with an impact that made Cal wince but the newcomer didn't seem to notice the pain, eyes fixed firmly on Cal's attacker - darting, assessing - trembling hands pulling him away and upright, patting arms and torso, then swinging him around to check out his back as though searching for holes.

Sam, for his part, underwent the manhandling with silent patience, only mumbling that he was "okay Dean, okay" when the crouching man's tone started to lose its relief and border once again on hysteria.

The admission earned him a sharp swat on the shoulder and a "what the Hell" that even Cal could tell stemmed more from fear than anger.

Sammy was still looking groggy and gazing at Cal in confusion, and it was only when Dean realised he seemed to be competing for Sam's attention that he even turned his head to acknowledge the fallen man beside him.

"Who the Hell are you?"

His tone was hard and slightly incredulous, but Cal didn't believe for a second it had been a rhetorical question.

"C… Cal," he stammered, and by the way Dean's eyes narrowed he knew he hadn't come close to answering the other man's question.

"'s okay." Sam's hands were on Dean's jacket drawing the other mans attention back to himself, and Cal couldn't help but notice how his gaze softened as it shifted. "Help me up," Sam instructed, hands still tangled in the other man's clothes, and Cal watched as Dean griped his friend's biceps and hauled them both to their feet. He didn't release his grip when they both were standing and his eyes were still suspicious, but gently so this time, in a way that made Cal want to weep.

He couldn't help but notice that neither man had offered to pick _him_ up from the ground. They towered above him, but he couldn't help but feel he'd be safer lying prone where he was than standing without the shorter man's permission.

Sam was watching him again, expression guarded but almost guilty, and then his eyes flicked away and past him to something on Cal's other side, something that he couldn't yet see.

"Is it dead?" he asked quietly, finally pulling away from Dean's hold and brushing himself down, cricking his neck and rolling his shoulders with an annoyed groan.

"Is it trying to eat you?" Dean asked, and Cal could just make out the raised eyebrows in the dim light. Sam scowled. "Then it's dead," Dean finished, sounding suspiciously satisfied. He'd moved around Cal and was prodding a large dark mass sprawled in a heap on the ground, nudging it with his boot, and Cal noticed for the first time the gun in Dean's hand, aimed at the centre of the mass with precision.

One hell of a big gun. He was almost glad to have lost his own to avoid the embarrassment of a comparison.

But then his brain caught up with his eyes and he realised he was alone in the dark with two huge guys with guns, and he started to think embarrassment wasn't the most useful emotion he could be having.

Sam retrieved another gun from the ground close to where they'd landed and approached the other man, weapon raised and also trained on the still form between them.

Dean stepped back and they both continued to watch the shadow suspiciously until Cal wondered if he should attempt to slink away, or stick around and find out what they were waiting to happen.

With a growl and a lurch the shadow sprung to life. Sam gave a brief yelp of surprise but his hands were steady and he didn't waver as the pair of them methodically emptied their rounds into its bulk. Cal flinched and covered his ears at the sudden intense noise, keeping them covered even as the sharp explosions gave way to mild clicking, and his eyes clenched tight shut against the sudden impression of glowing eyes and sharp teeth.

Silence descended and he opened his eyes to see Dean shrug.

"_Now_ it's dead."

He could see almost nothing in the darkness, but he could hear the other man's semi amused snort, so casual it was almost the most shocking aspect of the whole scene, and Cal felt suddenly light-headed, glad that he was still on the ground and didn't have far to fall. He tried to take comfort in the knowledge that both weapons appeared to be empty, but then there was a rustling and a clicking from Dean's direction, and a flashlight flicked on just in time for him to see Dean pat his newly loaded gun affectionately and throw Cal a cocky grin that made the downed man wonder if he was going to wet himself.

Sam seemed to be determinedly keeping the flashlight beam away from the stinking mass of fur and teeth to Cal's right. Cal could barely see him, just a shadow haloed in the light he held, but Sam seemed to be shifting uncomfortably, and Cal could feel his eyes on him like a physical force. It made his skin tingle, and he felt as self conscious as a school girl.

"We should probably bury it," Sam muttered quietly, decidedly not looking in Cal's - or 'it's' - direction.

"Yeah. But I think we got other things to worry about right now." And Cal wondered for a fleeting moment if they were going to shoot him too. If they would be burying his body alongside that beast's.

He didn't quite know how to take the knowledge that thought actually scared him.

But then Dean's posture seemed to relax and he tucked the gun away. Cal couldn't help but glance at him in surprise as he did so; taking in the fact Dean seemed to be a completely different man without the weapon in his hand. Less taut and less unhinged.

"What?" Dean grinned at Cal's poorly disguised surprise. "Don't worry. They don't come in pairs. Not an overly social creature."

Sam moved again and Cal could feel his eyes following the taller man involuntarily, but not exclusively enough that he didn't see Dean's frown. Sam had gathered some fallen leaves and branches and was doing a hap-hazard job of covering the body of the… the body in front of him.

And Cal was finally starting to put it all together: the animal attacks, the violent deaths, the growling, the rustling steps and the gunfire. This mass of fur and teeth killed Thom. It came close to killing him; so close he had felt the air flow in its wake as it had pounced overhead. But Sam had knocked him down out of its path and Dean had fired.

They had saved his life.

He'd just been standing there. He'd been so close to ending it all, and Sam had knocked him down. Deliberately thrown himself in harm's way to save a life Cal wasn't sure he even wanted. At least, he had no idea what he was going to do with it now he had it back. He'd lost his gun, so that was out, but he wasn't sure if that was really his path any more. Had never truly been sure.

Sam had risked his life to save him - Dean's fear and his annoyance had made that much clear. Cal could not in good conscience throw away that gesture.

And this thing had killed Thom. Whatever it was, it was huge, and it didn't look or smell natural.

Dean was eyeing him with a calculating smile, as though proud of him for figuring it out. Sam was shifting again and avoiding looking in his direction, and Cal could feel the loss of eye contact like it was a hollow inside him. Like it was a painful reminder of the hollow that already existed. That thanks to this man he might now have to try and find a way to heal.

"Come on, you might want to get up. _I'm_ not going to bite," Dean clarified when Cal initially flinched from the hand being held out towards him to help him to his feet. As he stood Cal could see Sam stoop behind Dean's back and tuck something silently into the waistband of his jeans, and Cal knew that he knew. Knew that Sam saw. That Sam knew what he'd walked in on. What Cal had been so close to pulling off. It made him feel sick inside; anxious to know what the other man was thinking. What he was thinking of Cal, and whether he now regretted his action. Regretted the danger and heroics that had not been asked for.

But Cal had asked for them. He'd asked for guidance, to be shown the way.

And he'd been given Sam.

"Well Cal. I'm Dean," Dean introduced himself at last. "And that there is Sam. And I'm guessing you could use a ride home, and a stiff drink or two right about now?"

Cal nodded absently, not really hearing his words. Not really sure of the logic behind getting into a car with these two strangers. But gun toting and menacing as they were, he couldn't believe they meant him harm. They would not have saved him if they meant for him to die.

He would go with them, because he had nowhere else to go. It wasn't like he had any other plans for the rest of the evening.

He followed them through the trees in silence, too numb to do anything other than be led. He could hear them whispering, bickering. Saw Dean give the other's shoulder another annoyed slap, then turn back to give Cal what he obviously intended to be a winning smile. They both turned and checked on him at intervals, as though watching to make sure he was still in tow, but neither volunteered any more information and Cal had left his voice somewhere beside Thom's graveside, and the silence was so thick he couldn't bring himself to break it anyway. But Sam would catch his eye and offer a reassuring smile and Cal could tell that it hurt them both, but it seemed to offer the platitude that everything would be okay.

And Cal had to believe that. He didn't have the strength to do anything else. He'd been under no illusions about this day; he'd known it would be hard, seen it coming with looming finality as the week had progressed. To formally say goodbye to Thom, the life they had shared, the future he'd thought he'd had. His foundations had been shaken.

Without Thom, he had no idea who he was and no longer understood his place in the world. But this…. Ten minutes with these men and they had stripped him of his basic perceptions about life. Called into question everything he had known to be true. He was even less equipped to form a new place in the world now than he had been clinging to Thom's ruined form in that morgue. Because back then his existence might have been in question, but the world around him had made some level of basic sense. He knew its rules. He knew the sun would rise, the earth would turn, there would be pain, and loneliness, and night, and day.

But if a creature like that could exist… everything Cal knew had been called into question. So if Sam could smile and suggest that everything would work out okay, Cal would cling to that; because Sam's pitying smile was the only thing that had happened to him all week that had made any sense.

Cal was stumbling by the time they exited the park and a black car gleamed into view, as though even the mechanics of walking had been called into doubt. They came to a halt and he found himself naturally gravitating towards Sam and the only hint of comfort left in his life, no longer caring about Dean's gruff exterior or the frown his actions caused. He needed to keep Sam close, have some kind of human comfort to keep the screaming terror in his mind at bay. If Sam was there, he would not feel the need to be looking over his shoulder or examining every shadow for the rest of time, because he trusted in the other man's instincts, and his light.

"I can drop Cal in town while you make a start on things here," Sam held out his hands for the key. "It won't take long."

Dean gave a humourless laugh and a "yeah right" and slid purposefully into the driver's seat. Sam sighed and rolled his eyes in Cal's direction, wrenching the passenger door open and dropping into the car with a creak.

Cal stood for a few seconds beside the door Sam had disappeared through, unsure. Neither was looking at him and he could see Dean tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in irritation. In the end he decided he was more afraid of remaining outside the car on his own than climbing in with them.

The drive back into town was almost in silence. Cal got the impression that neither was really sure what to say for the best. Besides reassuring him that it was dead and he would be safe now, Cal wasn't really sure what more they _could_ say. How much he could expect. Dean was kind but blunt. He didn't know about Thom. He didn't know about why Cal had been alone out there in the dark. They didn't know just how badly Cal's illusions had been shattered.

Sam appeared to be more understanding, he offered the eye contact that Cal found he craved – so few people had been willing or comfortable looking him in the eye for so long now that Cal found he was suddenly starved of that connection, and fed of Sam's attention like a dying man. He could tell that on some level Sam understood his pain. He wanted to ask, wanted to acknowledge that, but he still couldn't find any words, and his grief was still too private to share. But Sam had given him a tomorrow, and Cal looked on the idea this man might know something of what he was feeling with a mixed anxiety and hope. He would have to find a way to go on now, but he couldn't help but think he'd been given a glimpse of the fact that might just be possible. That maybe living could be an achievable goal, even as it hurt.

They dropped him off at his apartment, extracting a promise from him that he would be more careful in future, and that he would make no mention of ever having seen them. They would go back to take care of the evidence, dispose of the body, and slink away into the night. He was not to worry; if all went well he would never see either of them again.

As the black car rumbled away from him into the night and Cal turned to face his dark, empty apartment, he couldn't hide the surprise at how much the prospect of that new loss hurt.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: See chapter one.

**Part Two**

Cal didn't even bother trying to sleep; it would have been stupid of him to think he could. The apartment always was too still and empty when Thom wasn't in it, and now he had to face the reality that Thom would never be in it again.

Not that he would have to face up to that particular truth for long.

The pile of bills were still on the kitchen counter where he'd left them, still calling out to be paid, and he no-longer had the luxury of pretending that wasn't his problem. His internship had fallen through, his funding had been pulled, and he'd lost his household income along with the love of his life. There were gas bills that need to be paid, rent that was too long overdue, and a fridge that was emptier than he was. He was trying to concentrate and move forward, but the practicalities of life were too hard.

And this was before he contemplated the world's new shadows. The insight into what could live in the dark. He wished he could undo that knowledge – knowing what happened to Thom offered no closure; it didn't bring him back or make his absence easier. It didn't undo the sight of him, bloodless and cold. All it did was raise more questions, more uncertainties, and he didn't know how it was possible to live with the knowledge of what was really out there, and stay sane.

He recalled Dean's frenzied expression and affection for his gun, and the truth of that was clear; that sanity could play no part in his future.

But then he remembered again how Dean's eyes had softened when he'd looked on Sam; how his edges had faded when there was no threat; their easy symmetry; the way they could talk without words, and he knew he was looking at the way to keep the madness at bay.

But Cal had no-one to share his fear. He was alone in his new tomorrow.

Sam may have saved Cal from himself, but he had offered no way of ensuring that his near sacrifice wasn't in vain. Had left no support structure in place outside of himself. Cal had always known he couldn't do this alone – that was the knowledge that carried him to the park last night. But now Sam had left him less equipped to survive unaided than ever.

His mind was in too much turmoil to allow him to rest, the events of the day far too heavy. The weight of Thom's death still caused his shoulders to ache, and his back was bruised from where it had collided with the ground. And Sam had left bruises on his chest. He could still see Thom's body so clearly; still hear the ragged demonic breathing, smell the decay, see those unnatural glowing eyes fixed on his own.

And then there were Sam's eyes, locked on his with a sympathy and understanding he was desperate for, leaving him as winded as he had been when he'd still had Sam's elbow in his stomach.

By the time morning arrived Cal was in no doubt. He needed to see Sam again. He could not let them slink away into the world's less savoury cracks. He had too many questions, and he'd seen on Sam's face that he held the answers Cal sought. Even before he'd been aware of the questions, he'd known this man had his answers; the guardian angel of his prayers.

Sam had saved his life; it was time he took some responsibility for that fact. It was time Cal found out the truth behind those sideways glances and stilted looks. Why Cal felt as though Sam knew him before either of them had even opened their mouths.

It was the only hope he had to be able to continue. The hope of that meeting was the only thing that would get him through tomorrow.

He rose early, wondering why he'd even bothered going to bed – going through the motions that somehow failed to give him the same comfort and security they had only two days before. He'd spent barely an hour in their company, he hardly knew them, and yet he already felt like he knew them more than he knew any other person alive. They had shared this huge secret with him, and they had left. They were the only two people that shared his new view of the world. They had dragged him back into life and then shattered its very foundations. It would be irresponsible of them to leave him floundering.

If he could just find them again, Cal knew he would be able to make them see that. Sam must have saved his life for a reason. Cal had been searching for a purpose. He had known in that instant of silence when their eyes had locked, that he had found it.

They had said they would be leaving in the morning – not as soon as the creature was buried, but morning. That implied they had a room in the area, somewhere to stay to both wash and sleep away the fatigue of their adventures. It was still early. Hopefully he could still catch them.

There weren't too many places in town they could stay and Dean had manoeuvred the streets with the ease of a cab driver last night, taking Cal exactly where he needed to be, so he decided to try the local places first before pushing out to the main road.

He hired a taxi – it was an extravagance he couldn't really afford, but he couldn't afford to miss them either and he had a lot of ground to cover and not much time.

There was no black shiny car in the parking lot of the first place Cal tried, and he had to bite his lip to keep down his worry as he directed the driver on.

There was no sign of their car in the second lot either, and with a sigh he set them back on their way.

"No, wait!" he called out, making the driver pull to a stop at the curb. He might not be able to see their car, but there – hovering in front of the vending machine. Still as tall in daylight as he'd seemed to Cal's dazed and confused brain; broad shoulders, confidant gate – a little stiffer than it had been – and a mop of hair that Cal would have to fight the urge to run a comb through.

Sam spent so long deliberating the choice of soda that Cal was smiling affectionately before he even realises it. Sam turned away from the machine and popped the top of the can, eyes casually scanning the parking lot before tilting his head back and taking a long drink. Then he looked at his watch and headed inside.

Cal scrambled out of the taxi, thrusting money absently in the cabbies direction. He bounced uncertainly on the spot a few times before setting his shoulders and following. There was no car and Sam appeared to be alone, which was more than Cal had hoped for. He didn't know their true relationship, friends, brothers, colleagues – lovers would be too close to a fantasy to be reality – but he could tell from their movements, their level of understated affection, that they must spend great swathes of their time in each other's company. He needed to talk to Sam, but he had assumed they came as a package deal.

That didn't mean he wasn't grateful for what Dean had done for him – Dean had saved his life as much as Sam had - but he didn't stir the same emotions. Cal's reaction to Sam was more immediate and physical, maybe because his interaction with Sam had been more immediate and physical; but it was more than that too. Something intangible he could only hope to understand.

The building Sam had disappeared into was a launderette. Detergent smell and stifling heat met him as he opened the door, and a light jingling announced his presence. The one other early morning patron looked around at the noise – a harassed looking mother grabbing onto a brief distraction from her screaming child – but Sam was so secure in his stance and presence that he didn't look up. He was leaning absently against a dryer, eyes on the battered paperback in his hand, zoned into his own little world.

Which made things harder.

Cal shifted uncomfortably, not quite sure now he was here what he intended to say or how to introduce himself. He didn't know how to approach and open a conversation – in his mind, Sam had noticed him.

Just as Cal was beginning to feel especially awkward and was contemplating bolting, Sam's eyes left the page to take in another swig of soda, and he let them absently wander the room as he did so. When he noticed Cal he started, almost spluttering drink down his chin, and he turned his head slightly to check behind and either side of him. As though there could be anyone else Cal would be looking at with such intensity.

Which was when he realised he was standing stock still in the middle of a noisy launderette staring at a stranger, and he internally cringed that he'd made Sam uncomfortable before he'd even begun.

But Sam pushed back the brief flash of emotion on his face with schooled ease, tossed the worn paperback absently aside, and straightened to greet him. Cal eyed the discarded book curiously, not sure why his heart caught with the knowledge the book Sam had been studying so intently had not even been his own.

"Cal. What are you… what brings you here?" He was friendly but wary, everything that Cal remembered. He was pleased to see Cal, but uncomfortable too. Cal wanted to make this easier, but Sam should not have saved his life if he thought he could just walk away from it afterwards, job half done.

"I was just in the area… you know."

"Yeah… I know." Sam was rubbing his neck in a subconscious display of his unease, but Cal knew he meant what he said. He did know.

"I thought you guys would be long gone by now," He said casually. Thought, but had hoped and prayed.

"Yeah, we're just doing some last minute chores. Dean's on a supplies run," he raised his eyebrows to answer Cal's unspoken question, "and I'm stuck on laundry duty. _Again_. There's no getting back in the car until stuff's dry."

Cal nodded, really not sure what to say to that. The kid across the room was still screaming, making his head pound, and it was getting hard to think. They would be leaving soon, and now he'd got Sam in front of him he was even more convinced that he couldn't let him go. He wanted to just reach out and grab hold of him, he imagined the world would fall peaceful and silent as he did so, would start to make sense, that he could borrow some of the other man's solid presence and his calm.

"You wanna go get breakfast?" he asked, causing them both to jump. Sam's mouth moved a few times in surprise but no words came, and he gestured half heartedly to his near empty can and the drier, shrugging. Cal'd had his fair share of knock backs and he was fluent in turn down body language.

"Come on," he wheedled, taking himself by surprise, "there's a place just across the lot. You'll be done before the cycles ended, and you can wait somewhere where you can hear yourself think."

Sam eyed the wailing child, visibly tempted but still doubtful.

"Don't worry, it's my treat," Cal offered, knowing by the way Sam's cheek twitched that he was not far off the mark with that one. "Call it a thank you for saving my life."

Sam drew in a breath and nodded, his smile obviously harder to find but for completely different reasons now. Sam had stepped in where he'd been needed, but he didn't know he had also been wanted, and neither of them were quite sure what to do about that now.

Sam smiled hesitantly but his nod was firm, shoulders set with a decision made, and Cal was so relieved at Sam's obvious desire to accept responsibility that he could weep.

Sam was awkward and embarrassed as they slid into a booth in the diner across the street, hands never still, fiddling with first napkin dispenser than sugar packet as they waited for their order – two coffees, because Sam seemed too uncomfortable accepting more for Cal to want to push, and he was still feeling too sick himself to be able to force down food.

The smell of eggs and the sound of frying made him nauseous. Sam was avoiding eye contact now, and Cal wished he would just look at him, envied the waitress the brief nod and smile she was given because they were natural, when he could tell Sam's posture towards him was forced.

Because Sam was as lost as he was.

This was supposed to be easy. Sam was supposed to be able to tell him what to do. How to move on in this dark, cold, new world. The idea that there might not be some quick fix left him reeling, overwhelmed. Cal only had the time it would take for Sam to down his coffee, or for Dean to find them, in which to save them both.

Sam sipped the scolding liquid and closed his eyes, but when he opened them again they were turned in Cal's direction, watching him over the top of his steaming mug. The bruise on his cheek was more pronounced than it had been the night before, standing out harshly against pale skin that hadn't seen much sun. Cal had to resist the urge to lean over and touch it, acknowledge it in some way, this flaw to his features that somehow made Sam more human; more fallible but more determined in equal measures. He wished Thom was there to tell him what to do. That Sam had been a week earlier. They could be having this conversation together. And he wasn't sure which of them was being saved.

"I'm not giving it back, if that's…" Sam fell silent again and shrugged, jaw trying for defiant, but his gaze didn't waver. It took Cal a moment to follow.

He wanted to be angry or disgruntled. Sam was essentially stealing from him, from Thom, and it wasn't a trusting gesture, but "Good" was all that made it out. He didn't want it near him. Sam had taken it from him for a reason, and contrary to what Thom had always thought they were stronger without it.

"Did you know? When you...?" He didn't know why it was important, but he felt the need to know what Sam had been saving him from. Sam's lips twitched in an ironic smile and he gave a little snort that shook his whole frame briefly, before shaking his head. It was pitch dark, barely any moon; Cal knew there was no real way he could have seen. But he'd been deliberately searching none the less. At some point he had cottoned on.

Cal stiffened. He'd heard the shot. It had been deafeningly loud in his own ear, but even in the confusion of the fall and the screams, Sam must have known that first shot had not come from Dean's gun.

"Did Dean..?"

"No," Sam was emphatic and vaguely amused, and Cal heard again the panicked way Dean had been screaming Sam's name, saw the way Dean had needed to visually and physically prove he had sustained no injury, and realised what Sam was getting at. If Dean had realised Cal had been carrying a gun, and the first shot had been his, he would probably have finished the job.

Sam's gaze wasn't judgemental, but it was pitying, and Cal'd had enough of pity. It was all he ever seemed to get lately, and from Sam he'd expected more. He'd expected… He didn't know, but this wasn't how he'd wanted this conversation to go, and for the first time since he'd opened his eyes in the clearing he wanted Sam to be not looking at him. Wanted Sam to not have such an expressive, scrutinising gaze that seemed to penetrate every one of Cal's insecurities and flaws.

Suicide just seemed so teenage rebellion, so melodramatic, and he didn't want pity he wanted respect. He wanted some reassurance that someone out there didn't think his world just came to an end, and actually believed he could make it through tomorrow. He needed someone to think that, because he didn't think that himself. And he needed that person to be Sam.

"God, I know it was… I just." He put a hand in front of his face, not wanting to be seen in his own confusion, but he _would not_ cry. Too many people had seen him cry. Police, morgue attendants, detectives, landlord, neighbours and friends. Too many strangers had seen him weak. Sam had seen him at his weakest, and now Cal wanted him to see him be strong.

"It was…"

"Thom Burbank?" Sam breathed the question, and while there was sympathy, there was understanding too in his gaze, and Cal clung to that.

"How did you..?" Sam was the first person that had spoken that name in days that Cal hadn't wanted to hit. The first person who'd said it like he knew what it meant. The detectives, the funeral director, even the priest had said it like it was a job, a death, a person. Sam said it like it was a life. Like he knew it was Cal's.

"Your apartment building," Sam shrugged uncomfortably, "I recognised the address from the reports. You two were…?"

"Yeah." He didn't know whether to be angry at the assumption. Angrier still that it was true. "So you figured, what? Grief-struck lover, rushing off into the woods to take his own life." He bit out.

"Makes sense," Sam answered calmly, taking another sip of his coffee, eyes never leaving Cal's face as though daring him to disagree, and Cal deflated. There was still no judgement there, just understanding. And not the fake forced understanding of Thom's workmates or their neighbour. Actual understanding behind what had happened to cause Cal to make that choice.

He was daring Cal to refute his claims, because he knew for a fact Cal couldn't.

Cal had seen something in Sam the instant they had met. Something he had recognised. And Sam had seen it too.

"What was her name?" he asked. It was rude and he was prying, but he needed this more than he needed propriety.

"Jessica," Sam breathed with a distant smile, eyes firmly on the mug in his hands, but he didn't seem surprised or annoyed by the question. "Jess."

"Did you ever...?"

"No." He said it with some confusion, brow crinkled like he was surprised at the answer himself – how he could know exactly the steps that took Cal to that rise but never have followed them himself.

"Really?"

Sam shrugged. "Would have been too easy I guess. And I had… there was too much rage. Too much injustice." Cal shifted. "But I had a target for mine. And I had Dean." He said the last part with an affectionate smile and leant back in his seat, eyes up and on Cal again. "You might have noticed, he's got that big brother protective thing down to an art."

So brothers then.

He nodded again, wishing he did understand. But Doug had not looked at him that way since he had walked in on Cal and Darren Conner making out behind the garage, and you couldn't fake that knowledge.

"It get easier?" he asked instead.

Sam tilted his head as though contemplating whether to lie, which was all the answer Cal needed.

"You learn to live with it," He said at last, rolling his eyes at the irony of his own words. "It doesn't go away, but you learn to cope with it being there. And the days you wake up and realise you aren't thinking about it… they can be just as hard."

Cal nodded again, not being able to imagine a time when he wouldn't he thinking about it. When this hurt wouldn't be at the very centre of his mind.

"You _will_ find a way."

And there it was. No 'everything will be okay' or 'life will get better' or even 'Thom wouldn't want you to be sad'. Sam had never known Thom, so he wouldn't dare. Just the sheer truth that he would survive this loss.

And that was real; and there was more comfort in that truth than in all the false hope Cal had ever been given.

"Where will you go from here?" There was still so much he wanted Sam to teach him, so much he wanted to prove. He needed this connection, and a part of him couldn't help but feel that Sam needed it too. He could sense something lacking, something in Sam's eyes that he was yet to voice, which said he needed this as much as Cal did, Dean or no.

Of all the people that could have been in the park last night, there was a sense of destiny about the fact it had been Sam. Sam had been meant to save him, because he was perhaps the only one who knew how. He'd had no sense of a future until this man; he felt that Sam should have a role in shaping it from here. He was following Sam's path, and he needed to be shown what to do.

But he couldn't take Sam from his own.

"I don't know, we're just gonna head North. Dean likes the Dakotas. Something about the Badlands, it's safer not to question."

"And after that?"

"We go where the job is, so your guess is as good as mine." He knew what Cal was getting at, but he had the class not to make the rebuke clear.

"Dean's back," Sam announced, looking out of the window at the sheer black car pulling into the lot near the launderette. Cal tried not to let it hurt, the way Sam's eyes lit up at his brother's return. He needed that.

He wished he didn't feel envious of Dean's presence. He knew it didn't mean their breakfast had to come to an end – it wasn't as though either of them was doing anything wrong, but he couldn't be as open with Dean as he could with Sam. Because in Sam he'd found someone who understood. That didn't mean he wasn't grateful for what Dean had done for him. Didn't acknowledge that too. But he knew it was his grief that Sam had recognised when he'd looked at Cal last night. Knew that was where their connection lay.

"Here's my number," Sam slid a piece of paper across the table towards him, still unsure, and Cal was moved by the gesture even more because he knew Sam doubted his own logic behind doing it. But he took the paper and clung to it like the life preserver he knew it was. He couldn't believe he was going to let Sam get up and walk out of his life, but Cal was powerless to stop him.

"If you need anything… to talk."

Cal just nodded, too choked inside to speak. Sam made a move as though to grasp his shoulder but obviously thought better of it, withdrawing his hand and sliding silently out of the booth. The absence of that contact tingled in the negative space, and Cal marvelled that you could miss so acutely something you'd never had.

"Thanks for the..." Sam gestured weakly to the empty mug sitting on the table between them, the awkward and shy young man he had been when they had entered.

And then he left.

Cal watched Dean greet his brother in the parking lot, saw Sam throw his head back and laugh at whatever he'd had to say, and the knot in his stomach tightened. Without Dean, he didn't doubt that Sam would never have relearned to laugh that way. Without their help, he wasn't sure that he would either. But he knew there was something more, some other cloud between them that Sam had not been looking at Dean to clear.

He remained sitting in the booth long after he'd watched them disappear into the launderette, emerging ten minutes later with bags in tow. He watched them throw their belongings into the trunk of the car, saw Dean empty the back seat of trash and hit Sam repeatedly with a rolled up newspaper as a way of getting his attention.

He watched them climb into the car and drive away.

And then he watched the empty space in the lot that they'd left. Because he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do next. He had no job, he was on the verge of losing his apartment, and he'd lost his partner. He was a completely different person to the man he thought he knew, the man he'd thought he would be. And already he was floundering.

He straightened the curling piece of paper out on the table in front of him. 10 digits in a rough script that meant more to him than his own name. He ran his fingers over their shapes as though they held magical powers – the power to make him real again.

The power to bring Sam back.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Still the same

**Part Three**

_Hello… I… is that… Cal? _[Muffled talking] _Oh my god, are you… is everything okay? Yeah…? Good. Not it's… Good. No, nothing. We're just… yeah, still on the road. Pretty quiet actually. You sure you're okay? You just sound a bit… No, I understand. Don't worry about it… Yeah, you too. Bye._

-0-

Jessica Lee Moore, born 24 January 1984, was 21 years old when she died in a fire at the apartment in Palo Alto which she shared with boyfriend Sam Winchester. Friends and family at her funeral lamented the loss of her kindness, her humour, and her warm and gentle spirit.

Sam Winchester disappeared two weeks after his girlfriend's death, dropping out of school and according to the few friends he kept in touch with, embarking on a road trip with his brother. Those friends have not heard from him in months, but he lost his girlfriend, his home, and his future career in one night and the consensus was he still needed time to come to terms with that blow.

One thing that is known for sure is that he didn't visit her grave on the anniversary of her death.

-0-

[Metallica's Seek and Destroy guitar solo] _I… Cal? Hang on, just _[Metallica fades to the background] _That's better, what… _[Metallica is turned up louder than ever] _God just, real mature Dean. Yeah, we're okay. Nothing we can't handle… Sure… What about you? Did you ever hear back from…? That's great! Cal… you should think about it…. I know, but still. Just don't regret not… Yeah okay… No that makes sense, I guess. Alright… Take care._

-0-

BANSHEE: from the Irish _bean sí_ - woman of the fairy mounds. A female spirit, viewed as a messenger from the Otherworld. Her cry is an omen of death. According to most descriptions Banshees appear dressed in green, sometimes with a grey cloak over her wizened body, long streaming hair and eyes red from weeping. Can appear in the guise of an old woman or maiden.

-0-

_Cal? Can you just _[indistinct rustling, a door clicking] _No, it's good to hear from you, it's just not a great time. I know but _[yawning] _we just got in. Dean's asleep and I should… Yeah, everything's okay. Yeah… Spirit didn't even show I'm just tired…. Way too much digging man. No, you don't need…. We're gonna be leaving as soon as one of us can see straight to drive… Yeah… well, we made a promise to a guy… Yeah, maybe next time… okay._

-0-

There was a series of strange deaths in Reading, Ohio, that culminated in a mass desecration at the Lexicon Cemetery. Locals were devastated at such a senseless and disrespectful act of vandalism. No more deaths were reported after the incident occurred.

Two park rangers and a scout leader drowned in the kayaking lake of Pine Groves Recreational Grounds. Taylor Mulhern almost made it a fourth death when reserve lifeguards were too busy chasing two men who'd set fire to one of the parks historic holly bushes to mount a rescue. The suspects were not caught, and luckily Mulhern managed to fight the freak current and reach the shore unaided.

Work continues on the new Autumn Ridge Housing Development after a series of violent accidents threatened to close down construction. Police found site foreman Griff Dunkirk dead in his home after an anonymous tip. Time of death was recorded as over 36 hours previously, despite assertions that Dunkirk was present at a local committee meeting that morning.

-0-

_No __I… Well are you sure… I mean, it doesn't _sound_ like a typical Black Dog… no… It could just be a Coyote… It's possible I suppose… No you're right…. Better to be safe… yeah, we'll think about it… look… I hate to do this, but I kind of need the line open… yeah, I'm just… We're expecting a call, so… no it's okay.., yeah... bye._

-0-

"They didn't tell me their names. Yeah, **real** tall, and his friend… oh wow. I'm telling you, if he'd really been one of Marty's college buddies, I'd have noticed. I mean **seriously**. And that **car**. Oh, right… No. I don't know where they went. No. I wouldn't be here talking to **you** if I did."

"Broke into my brother's home they did. Ransacked the place. I don't know why they pick decent hardworking folk. Stole an antique pendent, been in the family for generations, gang of hoodlums. Probably after money for drugs, terrorizing innocent folk... Well you weren't here now, were you? I saw how it went down. I got the police on their tails; they'll not show their faces around here again, no siree… What! You wanna say that again, punk? Get the Hell of my porch before I call the cops on you, too."

"They said she killed Michael. That her spirit… God, it sounds so crazy. I wasn't… yeah, they told me not to tell, but I guess you know all about that, right? I just… I mean… why would she do that? I was the one that came on to him, I just didn't… I loved him so much and… No. I don't know… I mean, what am I supposed to do now? I can't… everyone thinks I'm crazy and I can't… I lost my job you know, and I had to move back in with my parents and… no. The insurance fell through as well… no... Well the attack threw suspicion on the claim. I know, I just… I wish... They left and I can't… I don't know how to pick up the pieces now… I thought they'd help me make it make sense…"

-0-

_No I… yeah I can hear you. Yeah, that's good. Look__... are you sure you don't want to go back to school... There's always that job offer in… I just… I think it would be good for you… healthy. You don't have to… This shouldn't be what you want. But that's different… It just… because it __**is**__ Cal. Look… I'm driving… No, I can't… I have to go._

-0-

REVENANT: From the Latin and French _revenir – _to return. A visible ghost or animated corpse that is believed to have returned from the grave to terrorize the living. Usually thought to return with a specific purpose, for example revenge on those who wronged them in life. Recommended methods of dealing with Revenants include exhumation, followed by either decapitation, burning, or removal of the heart.

Revenants share a number of characteristics with folkloric vampires.

-0-

_Cal, that you? What the __**fuck**__ man? No, I'm not gonna let you talk to Sam. Are you friggin serious? No… Just… Stop calling. Oh, don't you even think it… You come near my brother again and so help me God I swear… No, I think it's you that doesn't understand. Get your own life you little freak._

-0-

**Name:** Dean Winchester

**DOB:** January 24th, 1979

**POB:** Lawrence, Kansas

**Height:** 6' 1"

**Weight:** 175 lbs.

**Hair:** Brown

**Eyes:** Brown

Police record includes credit card fraud, breaking and entering, property damage, grave desecration, theft, arson, GBH, and murder.

-0-

_Hi, this is Sam. I can't come to the phone right now, but if you leave a message I'll get back to you as soon as I can._

-0-

**Aconite: **(_Aconitum Napellus_) Also called wolfsbane, monkshood, blue rocket. Use an infusion as a magical wash for ritual tools or sacred space.

**Aloe: **(_Aloe vera_) Protection, luck. Guards against evil influences and prevents household accidents. Use for success in the world. Prevents feelings of loneliness.

**Bloodroot:** (_Sanguinaria canadensis_) Used to heal wounds and aid with regeneration. The root draws love and averts negativity; place on doorways and windows for protection. Wear or carry it to draw love and to avert evil spells and negativity.

**Cedar** (_Cedrus libani_) Healing, purification, money, protection. The smoke is purifying and chases away bad dreams. Keep a piece in the wallet to draw money. Burn for psychic powers.

**Holly **(_Ilex aquifolium_ or _I. opaca_).One of the best protection herbs, holly guards against lightning, poison and evil spirits. Place under the pillow for prophetic dreams.

**Mistletoe** (_Viscum Album_) a great catalyst for all spells.

**Vervain** (_Verbena officinalis_). Used to increase the strength of potions. Enhances dreaming. Protects from negative emotions and depression.

-0-

_Hi, you've reached Dean Winchester's personal slave. I can't come to the phone right now because I'm busy serving my Awesome Master, but as soon as I'm done making his life easier, I'll see if I can squeeze you in. 'kay._

-0-

There was a close call in Wichita. A black '67 Chevy Impala Reg: KAZ 2Y5 was discovered abandoned on a back road less than a mile from the so called 'murder fields'. It disappeared from the police impound two days later.

John Doe, approximately 25 years, 6"3 and 190lb brought into St Lucy's E.R. with a dislocated shoulder, sever contusions, and mild head trauma after an apparent fall from the second story of an abandoned warehouse in the South district. Shoulder was reduced and wounds sutured. Patient regained consciousness after 5 hours but refused to speak to hospital staff or police. Disappeared 2 hours into observation.

Two suspects pursued on foot fleeing from Cutlers Mine. Shots fired. Blood on the scene indicates at least one target hit, but suspects managed to escape in concealed getaway vehicle. Two mutilated bodies recovered from the mine. Investigation ongoing.

-0-

_The number you have dialled is no-longer in service._

-0-

_The number you have dialled is no-longer in service._

-0-

At least 13 adventure tourists killed in a cave in at the Cherokee Caverns.

-0-

_The number you have dialled is no-longer in service._


	4. Chapter 4

**a/n: **Disclamers etc same as before. This chapter never quite turned out the way I wanted it too, but it is a means to an end (which we will get to in a round about way, eventually). I just want to say a quick thanks to everyone who's reading this - I was so nervous about posting it and hung on to it for the longest time, so thanks.

**Part Four**

They were in Philadelphia when Cal finally managed to track them down, and it had taken him three weeks and a whole lot of luck to get that far. He'd thought they'd been difficult to trace when he'd still been in contact with them, still able to follow the clues and subtle hints that Sam left him – the terrain, the weather, the nature of the beast. It hadn't been much – no doubt he'd been trying to fly under Dean's radar – but Cal had always been able to piece together their trail and keep his fears at bay.

But then that trail had gone cold and all contact had ceased. Cal was alone once more and he was floundering, in need of the reassurance and guidance that Sam had always been able to evoke. But it was more than that too; they had saved his life. The idea that something might have happened to them, that they could be holed up somewhere injured and alone, or worse… It made Cal sick inside. He and Sam understood each other; they had a bond that ran deep. Sam would not leave Cal hanging without a good reason.

He needed to know. If necessary he needed to help. These two did too much good, for too many people, to be allowed to sink unnoticed through the cracks.

He saw the car before he saw them, embarrassed at the emotion and relief such a simple hunk of metal could stir up. He'd been in there once, for less than twenty minutes. He'd been rudderless and lost, overcome by fear and grief. The past week had seen his entire life pulled out from under him, but locked in that confined space with the two of them there had been a kind of stillness. A sense of release.

He knew nothing about them, but they had killed the creature that had been terrorising his town. And while their actions and their knowledge had scared him he had felt safe there, locked behind those four thin doors. He had looked in Sam's eyes, seen the pain there, and in the midst of his own confusion had found some kind of peace. Peace of the kind he had not experienced since, cast out into this brave new world full of secrets and dangers. The peace of knowing that these complete strangers knew something of him, shared something with him, and would let nothing touch him.

He had not felt sheltered like that since he'd last been in Thom's arms, secure in the knowledge that whatever the world might do, however it might change around them, he was noticed, he mattered, and he was loved.

He missed Thom with an intensity that surprised him still, this dull empty ache that he didn't think he would ever fill, didn't think he wanted to fill. He had distractions; he filled his days with other things, just to avoid having to look at the wound in his soul. But also to ensure that it stayed there.

Sam had offered him hope, and it was like a drug. He'd offered a promise that Cal could move past this, find a place in the world, find his purpose again. Sitting in that diner, listening to that earnest tone, seeing the depth of understanding on the other man's face… Something in Sam had touched him, and he'd known Sam's words to be true.

But then they had left. And all the faith in the world had not paid his bills or saved his job. When Sam had looked at him it had all seemed so clear, so real. Left to his own devices Cal was wading through darkness, struggling just to stay afloat.

But Sam understood that. His words, his tone, his attention… the fact that he _cared _what Cal had to say, cared enough to question the choices that to Cal were clear, wanted to spare him the pain, the danger Cal knew all too well their own lives entailed… Having Sam reach out to him was everything he had thought it would be – Sam made contact and in those brief instances the world fell silent, the pain was real and containable, and Cal was wrapped up in Thom's arms once again, noticed, mattered, and loved.

And he felt safe.

Sam had done so much for him; it was time that Cal gave a little something in return.

He sat in the window of a coffee shop across the street from their car and ordered the cheapest drink he could find. And then he watched, and he waited.

He was wired and he didn't have the discipline for this, the patience to act casual; he felt his tension must be screaming out of him from every pore. The street was a boring throng of causal afternoon shoppers and the coffee shop bustling with the student crowd; couples staring at each other over their mugs, groups debating politics or art, and one incredible blond vision of a man who had licked his swizzle stick suggestively and winked when he'd caught Cal staring.

Cal was just celebrating having something interesting to look at when he saw them, and all thought of the cute guy was pushed out of his mind. He spotted them as soon as they rounded the corner of the block, their height making them easy to pick out in the quiet street. They looked good – healthy – and something within Cal unclenched with that knowledge.

They walked with confidence, Sam ducking his shoulders slightly to better hear what his brother was saying. Cal's eyes had been drawn to Sam the instant they had met and he found himself sitting up straight in his seat, heart pounding slightly at having him so close once again, recalling despite himself Sam's weight pressed against him, warm breath on his neck.

Dean was chatting quickly and animatedly, looking smug, causing Sam to sigh heavily and shake his head in annoyance. But even Cal, concealed across the street, could see the lines of amusement Sam was struggling to contain.

They reached the car and Dean stopped to fumble for his keys, nodding his head and waggling his eyebrows suggestively and Sam did laugh then, long and joyous, and Cal felt it inside him even if he couldn't hear a sound. Sam said something, still smiling but shaking his head, and Dean paused, frowned slightly, then turned to get in the car decidedly pouting.

Just before getting in the car himself Sam started, looking curiously around. Cal ducked back out of sight, but he couldn't help it that his heart hammered slightly at the thought that Sam might have felt him watching. He didn't doubt for a second that if it had been the other way around he would have known the instant Sam stepped over the county line. The static humming in his brain had shut down with his close proximity, letting Cal think and breathe clearly for the first time in months.

Sam shook his head and slid into the car, and Cal could see Dean leaning over to talk to him as he did so, frown on face. But then they were pulling away from the sidewalk and Cal had to dive out of his seat and back into the street. He hadn't really planned what to do when they reached the car; reassuring himself that they were both alive had been his number one priority.

And now they were driving away from him again.

He needed to make contact. He needed to reconnect. He _needed_ it. Being on the outside looking in was a whole new torture. He wanted to show them what they had done for him – that he was no longer the broken and naïve young man they had rescued that night. He hadn't shattered under the pressures of the world; he could be strong, and he could make a difference.

He would not lose them again. He refused to do it. They must be working a job in town, and there were only so many places they could stay.

The car was parked out back at the first place he tried, but he didn't know what room was theirs or what names they might have given.

It was stake out time again.

He stayed in the car this time, a clapped out old Chevy cavalier he had bought purely to allow him to explore and better understand the new landscape they had landed him in. And he waited.

Night was falling and he was cold and hungry before his patience was rewarded. Dean emerged from number 17 pulling his jacket tight around him. He got into the car and pulled out of the lot, heading left away from town.

And he was alone.

Cal straightened up from where he'd ducked to avoid Dean's sweeping headlights and fixed his gaze of the door the other man had just exited. Sam was behind that door. One plane of wood was the only thing separating them. After months of just his voice on the phone, of monitoring the chaos they left in their wake and weeks of searching, only a peeling motel door with a crooked number was keeping them apart.

That and Cal's own fear.

Now he was here, he was practically hyperventilating with it.

What had he expected to do? He couldn't just bang on the door this late at night and wander back into Sam's life. It wasn't that he didn't think Sam would be pleased to see him, but it was still a little weird. He remembered how uncomfortable Sam had been in that launderette when he had realised Cal had deliberately sought him out, must have been searching for them since it got light. If he knew Cal had been searching for weeks…

He had never wanted to make Sam squirm like that again. There had to be some casual way that he could slip back into their lives. He could bump into them in the street in the morning or stumble into the same diner and get reacquainted over breakfast. But he could not barge into their motel room in the middle of the night uninvited.

Cal sighed and rubbed a hand across his eyes in frustration. He hadn't expected for this to be so hard. Sam was right there, finally, yet was still beyond his reach.

He wondered what Sam was doing, cooped up in that small room alone. Was he working? Watching TV? Or had he turned in early for the night? Was he showering and brushing his teeth, running through his domestic nightly routine? The thought caused Cal to shift uncomfortably.

He had a vague idea as to why they had stopped in the area and the thought of Sam alone in that room; undressed and defenceless, _asleep_… it caused his heart to pound with unexpected emotion.

Nothing would touch him as long as Cal was around. He would stay here all night if he had to. He had nowhere else to be.

But it looked as though his services were not to be required. Half an hour after Dean had left Sam also emerged from the motel room, locked the door behind him, and strode confidently into the night, heading in the same direction the car had taken.

Curious but unsure, Cal climbed out of the car and followed.

He hung a good way back, not wanting to startle Sam on a deserted road in the dark. Cal wasn't afraid that he would lose Sam on the poorly lit street – he had driven this route earlier and knew there was nowhere for Sam to go. He turned nervously twice but Cal was too far back in the darkness to be seen, hating himself for remaining hidden but having no excuse for his actions.

They walked for almost a mile, passing only a few unlit buildings and a 24 hour gas station before Sam turned his steps purposefully to a seedy looking bar set back off the road.

Cal felt his insides clench at the sight of it. He really did not think he wanted to have to set foot in there.

The Impala was waiting in the parking lot outside, winking in the moonlight, and Sam paused to run his fingers lightly over the hood as he passed, tapping it a few times with his knuckles as though deciding something. And then, as though the car had given him the strength to proceed, he threw his shoulders back and his head up and pushed his way determinedly inside.

Maybe they'd argued – neither of them had looked particularly upset but he couldn't think of another reason why they hadn't come here together. Sam could be here to make amends. Or maybe he'd just changed his mind, grown bored of an empty room and his own company, and decided to join Dean for a drink.

Not that he seemed to be doing much joining.

The outside of the bar was unlit and deserted. Cal felt able to crouch and hover at a window down the side of the building without the fear of discovery.

Dean was playing pool over against the far wall. Sam must have noticed him but chose not to acknowledge his brother's presence, just headed straight to the bar without giving him a second glance. The other men around the pool tables looked up to take in the new arrival, but Dean made no move of welcome.

So they _were_ pissed at each other. They worked so fluidly together; it gave Cal butterflies to see them so indifferent towards each other. They could be working, but Dean was drinking and talking and playing pool, and had been doing so without backup for the past hour. And they hadn't even made eye contact; he wondered what could have happened since he had seen them laughing in the street to cause such distance.

Maybe he should go in. Talk. Try and mend their rift. He desperately didn't want to be seen lurking around the side of this place peering in, but it wasn't exactly the kind of place a guy like Cal felt comfortable in either. Even Sam looked out of place, hair tidy for once, clothes neat. But if he was needed…

Sam had gotten into a conversation with a few guys at the bar who seemed to be indicating in Dean's direction. Dean just took his shot without glancing over, but Cal could tell by the set of his shoulders that he was aware of the conversation behind him and it was making him tense. Not that he shared that fact with his friends, offering nothing but a cocky grin and the flash of a twenty.

If they had friends here maybe Cal's intervention wouldn't be necessary. Two of the guys near the bar seemed to have finally convinced Sam to play, but that didn't mend the rift. Sam watched Dean finish his game in silence, talking only to the two brutes at his shoulders and only when spoken to. When Dean's game was over and they pointed to the table where his brother was cockily counting his winnings Sam just raised his eyebrows and shook his head, then allowed himself to be lead to another table so he wouldn't have to play his brother.

The night progressed and the beers flowed and the brothers seemed to warm to each other slightly, chatting casually but never familiarly. Dean was on a winning streak, the victor of nearly every game, losing just often enough to encourage the others to keep trying their luck. And they seemed to be winning enough off Sam – who had the sense not to bet as big – to keep them coming back for more.

These were Dean's friends, Cal decided, and while they let Sam play they made him pay for it in that way Doug's friends had often humoured their buddy's younger sibling. Even Dean had no compunction taking his little brother's money, openly rubbing Sam's face in it when he did so. Cal found himself wishing Sam would stand up for himself a little more and not let Dean's friends take advantage of him. They were clearly making him nervous, and Cal was watching him closely enough to know that his game could have been better if he wasn't so tense.

He'd been watching so long by this point that his fingers were going numb and he'd lost all feeling in his knees. He was still torn as to whether he should go in and let them know he was here. When they'd first started playing he' been more willing to try it, despite how out of place and wrongly dressed he was for a joint like this. Because they had been laughing and joking and among friends, and Cal had been fairly confident about his welcome.

But the money had turned the game ugly and Cal's insecurities were back. But that protective streak in him was flaring up again too. Sam was obviously trying hard to get back in Dean and his friend's good graces, but was being mocked for his attempts. Sam had once told him that Dean was protective to a fault; Cal had witnessed that himself, so he didn't understand how Dean could stand idly by now when Sam was so obviously uncomfortable. The slight tensing of his jaw and tightening of his grip on the stick told Cal that Dean wasn't happy with the way his friends were treating his brother, but something – maybe pride, or whatever stupid thing they'd decided to fight over – meant he did nothing to intervene.

So it was up to Cal to do it for him. Sam had saved him once, and while the situation was nowhere close to being the same he would throw his own fears about this place aside and he would go in there and save Sam. Give him some moral support. Dean had made him suffer long enough, and if he wasn't going to apologise then maybe it was time for little brother to show him up in front of his friends. With a little more confidence and support he truly believed Sam would almost be a match for Dean. Sam just needed to believe that too.

Throwing his own fears aside for Sam, he headed inside.

It was stiflingly warm in the bar after so long in the cold air, and as soon as he entered Cal could feel all eyes swing in his direction. Big, rough looking, manly eyes, and Cal felt his palms start to sweat and his breath quicken. It was like being in high-school all over again, the jocks all sneering at the scrawny gay kid, living in constant fear of harassment, and Cal questioned instantly the logic of doing this.

But Sam had jumped in front of a charging beast for him; facing off against a few rednecks was the least Cal could do in return.

The group by the pool tables also turned to stare at him as he shuffled awkwardly across the floor, obviously heading in their direction, and they sneered derisively.

Sam flashed a quick glance at Dean as they did so, one of the first and most open all night, and Cal was taken aback to see the flicker of fear there. But Dean just clenched his jaw and jerked his head minutely in Cal's direction before turning away and trying to engage one of his larger buddies in another game.

Cat calls and jeers heralded Cal's arrival in their vicinity and he tried to brush it off; he'd experienced worse from people he'd known since childhood so he wouldn't let a few ignorant strangers faze him.

Sam set his pool cue down on the table and held a hand up with a frown and a disapproving "_guys_", then turned to him with such a welcoming smile that Cal felt his knees go weak.

"Cal! Oh my god… what the Hell are you doing here?"

"I…. Um." There were sniggers as Cal found his voice and Sam tried to disentangle himself from the group. "I was passing and saw the car. Just thought I'd drop in and say hi."

Sam nodded encouragingly and moved towards him, but Cal sensed Dean stiffen and the look he was thrown was ugly, almost panicked. For an instant their eyes locked; Dean shook his head slightly before decidedly looking away, and Cal was suddenly furious. He knew what Dean did for a living, knew the challenges this man faced every day, the hardships he bore. Dean was a hero; he was Cal's hero. He had saved Cal's life but he had never really been comfortable in Cal's presence, and at one point flat out rude. But the idea that he might be so violently angry, even scared at the prospect of being seen with a homosexual in a bar in front of his buddies.... That he was so angry even Sam was afraid of him… It filled Cal with a wave of fury so intense it was momentarily blinding.

He was about to say something when he felt Sam's fingers close around his arm, grip firm and grounding. He realised with a jolt that this was the first time since he'd been tackled that Sam had actually touched him, and the contact was everything Cal had hoped it would be. It cleared his mind and helped him focus, and he noted the way Sam's hand was trembling slightly against Cal's skin, the fear in his eyes, the slight shake to his voice as he whispered "come on man, just let it go" and tried to lead him away.

"Alright guys, I'm out," he called over his shoulder, spinning Cal around and taking a step towards the bar. "Come on, I want you to tell me everything you've been up to."

He seemed genuinely happy to see Cal, to see him doing so well, but there was something else in his eyes that he was trying to communicate, and Cal just couldn't read his signals. But he was obviously not worried about his reputation with Dean's friends because his large palm was on the small of Cal's back now, steering him away, the other hand still firmly gripping Cal's arm, and Cal felt enveloped, could smell Sam so clearly it overrode all of the seedy scents in the bar. He could hear Sam's breathing quicken over the sounds of groans and protests behind him, and one suggestion that he let Cal 'console' him over the loss of his college funds in the ally out back made Sam stiffen but keep his silence, stance still protective at Cal's back.

It was falling apart so quickly. It was painful to know that his mere presence in Sam's life could make things worse; the sheer reality of who and what Cal was. Once upon a time he would have run and cried from that realisation, but Thom and Sam had helped him to be strong. To respect who he was. Now he felt only hatred and rage.

"Come on college boy, you can't leave us like that."

"Thanks guys, but I think I've lost enough money for one night," Sam nudged his elbow and he realised he'd frozen in place. "Come on, buy me a beer and we'll catch up," He offered, and Cal recalled a time when buying Sam simple cup of coffee had been _all_ he'd wanted to do, the culmination of all his dreams. The struggle it had been to get Sam to agree.

He'd lost Sam the last shred of respect he'd had with these men, he can hear it in their taunting tone, and while Sam might not care about that, Cal does. He'd come in here to help Sam be strong like Sam had helped him and he was determined to do just that; to show these ignorant morons up for the bigoted inadequate they were.

"What's a matter Sam, you chicken?" one of them called out. "Don't you want a chance to try and win some of that money back?"

"Yeah, you can't leave us to get our money back from this guy alone," another chimed in, indicating to Dean, who was frozen in place. "Maybe your buddy can help you out there. What d' ya say _Cal_… you man enough for a game?"

Sam was minutely shaking his head, eyes fixed on Cal's so pleading that he had to look away, but it was a matter of honour now and not just Sam's. Sam had seen him with a gun to his head, seen him lost and grieving. Sensed his tears. He was tired of Sam witnessing him being pushed around by fate. He wanted Sam to know he could stand up for himself, for both of them, that he could take control.

He spun, defiant, ignoring Sam's panicked hiss in his ear. "Yeah Sam," he said instead, "Are you really gonna let your brother clean you out? I think it's about time…"

He trailed off uncertainly. The utter silence from their corner of the bar let him know that he'd said something wrong. Most guys didn't expect the down trodden gay-boy to stand up for himself, but it wasn't just their surprise he was feeling. The whole atmosphere of the bar had shifted. It was no-longer jovial or even mocking. There was something dark in the air now. Dangerous and ugly.

"Brothers…" the main ringleader spat, glancing between Sam and Dean with his eyes narrowed in rage and disgust. Cal suddenly had no idea what was going on, just that things were about to get nasty.

"Look, guys…" Dean approached slowly with his hands up in a gesture of surrender, but even Cal could see that his easy smile was doing him no favours. He was not going to be able to sweet talk himself out of this as casually as Cal had talked them into it.

Even so, Cal didn't see the punch coming.

Dean did, and managed to move enough to stop it from breaking his nose. In the second of impact it was like the sound had been turned back on; the cries and the screaming and the thump of feet and knuckles against skin was so loud that Cal flinched, had to fight the urge to curl up into a ball with his hands over his ears and will it away.

And then he was moving, being swung. He was about to protest, to try and defend himself, when he realised it was Sam still gripping his arm, pulling him around and away from the violence that seemed to have erupted from every angle.

"Get outside," Sam ordered breathlessly against his ear, "Get out. Go," and he was pushed towards the door so hard he stumbled. When he looked back Sam was gone, lost in the mêlée of charging, swinging bodies. When he found him again Sam had a pool cue back in his hands and was making his way to Dean's side, picking his brother up off the floor and swinging at anyone who dared come near them.

Someone crashed into Cal from behind and he was knocked to the floor. A foot landed in his back and he cried out, breath expelled from his body like it seemed to be every time he was in close proximity to Sam.

He was struggling to his feet and he could see them, both standing now, back to back. Formidable and fluid. The trust that he remembered, that he had missed, was clearly evident. They each knew the other's mind and body so well that their moves were automatic; they knew without question where they had to be at any time to have the other's back. They worked by sheer instinct, and it was the most beautiful and the most frightening thing Cal had ever seen.

Hands clamped around his collar hauling him to his feet and he struck out blindly, kicking and punching and breaking free, staggering back into the crowd. He thought he heard Dean shout his name just before a chair collided with his side and he was almost floored. Something connected with his other side and he stumbled, but the weight of the charging body was pulled off him and Dean was there, and the grip on the back of his shirt was firm and solid as he found his feet.

"Get. The. _Hell_. Out of here," Dean ground out, and the look in his eyes as he punched the next guy in line was chilling.

There was a cry from behind them that made Cal's blood run cold; and he had done that; he was responsible whether he understood why or not. He and Dean both turned in time to see Sam's face connect with the nearest pool table, the cue falling uselessly from his hand as he was pinned flat against the table by the giant with his hands in Sam's hair.

The look on Dean's face as he pushed away from Cal and struggled towards his brother was truly the most terrifying thing Cal had ever seen.

He had to help. He had to do _something_. He made a move to try and follow but there was a fist flying in his direction and he lacked Dean's reflexes; he didn't know how to get out of its way in time.

And then there was pain, is own voice ringing in his ears, and a deep and welcoming blackness.

-0-

He opened his eyes to find Dean's face hovering inches from his own. His head was pounding and his whole body ached, but he forced his eyes to focus just in time to see the relief in Dean's features turn hard.

Cal's hand was brought up to his face and pressed against something cold there, made to grasp it, then Dean stood up and out of his line of vision. Cal looked up to see him run a hand through his hair, shaking his head as though he quite frankly couldn't find the words for what he wanted to say.

Cal was glad of that, because he didn't think his head could take them. He closed his eyes with a groan and clenched his fingers around the cold hard object in his hand, realising what it was; an ice pack pressed against his aching jaw.

He opened his eyes again in confusion, blinking, and the last few seconds of his memory came back to him in a rush. The fight, the cries, the fist flying in his direction, and then darkness.

He was sitting on the cold, damp concrete in an ally at the side of the bar; the same ally he'd been spying in earlier. His mouth was throbbing, and when he shifted his jaw experimentally it caused him to gasp and wonder if a couple of teeth felt loose. The asphalt was hard and unforgiving beneath him, the brick behind him grating against his bruised lower back.

He looked up again to find Dean still hovering close by, watching him. His face was bruised and his collar bloody, but Cal could tell by Dean's stance and the way he was cradling his knuckles that his opponents had come off worse in this particular fight.

Movement drew Cal's eyes away from Dean to the scene behind him. Sam was standing in the distance, framed by the light pooling out from the open door, talking to the barman, body language placating. He was holding a towel against his arm and even in the poor light Cal could see the spots of blood that stained it, and his insides clenched.

Legs obscured his view of Sam, then a torso, then Dean's face leaning in, and a calloused hand grasped his grazed chin and physically tore his gaze away. And Dean's voice, his words, were chilling.

"Don't you _dare_ look at him again." He said it like it was an effort just to get the words out, and his fists clenched like he was barely containing himself from beating Cal where he sat. "You don't _look_ at him, you don't _talk_ to him, you don't _call_ him, and you sure as _hell_ don't _follow_ him. Do I make myself clear?"

"I…" Cal swallowed nervously, but Dean raised an eyebrow and tilted his head dangerously in a way that let Cal know he wasn't done. He remembered again Dean's panic that night when he'd checked on a fallen Sam; the terrifying rage on his face when he'd watched that guy hurt his brother. He saw the torn skin on Dean's knuckles, and Cal was mortally afraid. Once upon a time he'd thought he wanted to die, but now he was faced with the reality of that it was everything he could do not to be sick in Dean's lap.

"You don't belong here Cal. Do not make this your life; you're really not very good at it. You almost got us all killed in there. You distracted me for one minute and…" his jaw clenched and Cal didn't know whether to fear him or hug him.

"How did you even find us anyway? How long have you been hanging around? It was you in the street this afternoon, wasn't it?" his voice curled with understanding, and with something more. "When Sam said he thought there was someone watching us, it was you. My God… You've been tailing us this whole time haven't you…? Watching him… You've been…" To Cal's horror there was a catch in Dean's voice, and he didn't know if it was disgust or fear. "You sick, sick puppy. I can tell you now that Sam don't swing that way. Hell, Sam don't swing any which way these days, so don't bother wasting your time."

"I'm not…" He was horrified, fuming that Dean could think that was what this was about. That he could sully their friendship, their trust in that way. That he could take it upon himself to make Sam's decisions for him. But Dean's anger didn't let Cal speak.

"Now you see, Sam's too soft for his own good sometimes, and he's too patient, and if he led you on in any way then I'm sorry, but _no more_. This ends now. You take your need, your creepy little obsession, and you get the Hell out of dodge before morning. Because believe me when I say if I even get an inkling that you're still hanging around, that you've tried to contact Sam again… then I will _end you_. Do you understand that? Sam owes you nothing. He is nothing to you. And if you come near him again I swear to god I will do us all a favour and kill you myself."

He was practically spitting by the time he was done, red with fury, and Cal was too hurt, too taken aback by the accusation to form words.

Dean didn't wait for a response though. He just stood up and turned away. Sam was hovering uncertainly by the car, waiting. He threw Cal a sorrowful look but made no effort to come over, to refute Dean's claims. He just turned and slid into the car in silence and let Dean drive him away, leaving Cal sat in the ally, cradling his bruised jaw in the rain.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**a/n:** Hello again. I just wanted to say a quick thanks to the anonymous reviewers out there – it's appreciated. And to warn you it turns out Cal can be quite an introspective guy. He's not quite as bad as Bobby, but its close.

**Part Five**

Cal would have sat out in the cold and rain all night if the barman hadn't got him moving. He didn't know what Sam had said to the guy, but he saw that Cal was in a taxi and disappearing into the dawn light before the police got there, and somehow that fact only served to make him feel worse.

He was almost afraid to go back to the motel for his car, convinced the whole time he was in the open paying his fare and unlocking the door that the curtains would twitch, and Dean would come storming out to make good his threats. The lights were still on in their room and it took no imagination at all to know what they were doing in there now – tending to their wounds and talking about what a mess Cal had made of their lives.

He turned on the ignition and hurried out of the lot, not letting his eyes take their last look at the Winchester's room. He didn't want to know if his retreat had been witnessed. He didn't want to know if it was anger or regret that would be lining Sam's features if he saw Cal drive away.

Dean's rage had been incandescent and way off the mark, but in a way it had also been understandable.

Sam had been silent. And that silence cut deeper than all of Dean's words. He had no idea what Sam was thinking. There had been sorrow in his eyes, but did that stem from apology or disappointment?

But there had been something else there too; that mix of longing and uncertainty that seemed to forever lurk beyond the surface of Sam's gaze. And that was something Cal was not able to ignore. Whatever Dean might say, Cal knew the thing that drew them together was not one-sided. There was still something more that Sam had been unable to say; some need for Cal that he had not been able to fulfil.

Would he ever know what that was?

Could he ever move forward until he did?

He didn't make it far, exhausted and hurting and shaking too much to drive. Once he was sure he was far enough away not to incur Dean's wrath he pulled into a convenient lay-by, and he cried. Cried like he hadn't in months. It was like those first few days of losing Thom all over again. He cried and screamed it all out until his throat was sore and his voice too hoarse to scream anymore.

His jaw throbbed and his face ached – stiff and cold with drying tears.

And it was freeing. Finally, for the first time, reacting to his life in the way he had always wanted to; railing against the misery and the injustice of it all. Letting a little of that festering anger out and acknowledging physically just what Thom's death had done to him, what it meant, and not trying to lock it away, to contain it and move on like everyone had seemed to expect.

He cried himself into an exhausted doze, but his mind didn't shut off long enough for it to be restful. He'd been so lost, but then Sam had come crashing into his life and made everything seem so clear. And now, for the first time since meeting him, Cal was unsure what to do next; was not convinced that blindly following the path Sam set for him was something he even wanted to do.

Perhaps Dean was right: he didn't belong here. He didn't understand it. He'd known Sam was trying to tell him something, that Dean had wanted him to shut up and leave, but he hadn't been able to make sense of their signals. They could have been seriously hurt because of him. It had been seven against two - Cal honestly had no idea how, when he had been on his ass in a puddle, the two of them had still been standing.

Perhaps they were _too_ in tune, too synchronised. It helped them work so effectively, it kept them alive, but it also made them dangerous. They saved so many lives, but last night Cal had seen beneath the glamour to the calculated violence below. And it had made him sick.

Once upon a time he'd been able to read Thom like that, had the same levels of physical and mental synergy. But that had been tailored more towards knowing exactly what movie to bring home at the end of the day, what situations called for sweet or savoury forms of comfort, and truly spectacular sex.

Sam and Dean used that connection just to stay alive, and Cal was shocked to learn he felt sad for them. There was no clarity; there were no solutions here, because they were as conflicted as he was.

He'd become reliant on Sam within minutes, and yet he had seen for himself the other man was equally as confused. It wasn't fair on either of them, and it wasn't how Cal wanted to move on. It wasn't how he wanted to remember Thom, through his dependence on another man, even one who seemed to know and understand what he was going through.

It was an enormous revelation, and he didn't know whether he should be relieved or even more frightened. He felt like a weight had been lifted from him, but he was un-tethered again. Sam had given him a purpose, and whether it was a false purpose or not it had got him out of bed in the morning, given him something to fill his days with other then losing himself in grief. It had given his fractured existence some kind of structure, and because of it, he had survived.

Take that away from him and he may as well be on that ridge again with a gun in his hand and a blank stretch of nothingness before him.

A terrifying blank canvas to be filled any way he wanted. He saw clearly now what Sam and Dean had been trying to tell him all along; they had saved him, but they couldn't pick up all the pieces. It was up to Cal to find his _own_ path.

But it was still Sam. It was still the only person that had made any sense at all since Thom's death. Sam was a security blanket that Cal wasn't sure he could set aside. He hadn't been strong enough to move on alone, and that was before the demons and spirits, hexes and hunters. His empty bank account and his empty bed had been enough to overwhelm him. Now the world was so much fuller, but that didn't make it any easier.

He wanted someone he could talk to honestly, that would tell him the truth. Someone he could show his jumbled mess of emotions to who would not run from them or offer false hope. Sam had been exactly where he was now; no girl, no home, no job, the supernatural world at his doorstep. He had been open and honest from the start, and he was still the only one Cal felt he could trust.

He didn't want Sam to provide him with answers; he just wanted him to listen. Cal just wanted to unburden himself on the one person who wouldn't hate him or judge him or lock him away for what he was going to say. And he wanted Sam to do the same. He wanted to give what little he could in return; he wanted to listen when Sam was so reluctant to talk.

They couldn't fix each other, they were both too broken, but they _could_ give each other the support to try.

Cal just hoped he hadn't left it too late.

Dean had misunderstood everything about his connection with Sam, everything about why they had been drawn to each other; Cal felt cheap and used just thinking about it. Thom had been his world, he still was. Cal had been willing to die to prove that. This wasn't about replacing Thom; it was about honouring him. Sharing him with someone who could begin to understand Cal's loss. He'd made no inappropriate advances and he'd been in touch with his sexuality long enough to know when he was wasting his time. He knew Sam would not provide the physical comfort he might find himself craving at times, but Cal wished Dean wasn't blind to his emotional needs.

Sam had seen them before he'd even switched on his flashlight.

He knew Sam was the kind of personality capable of speaking for himself, capable of putting Dean in his place.

So why wasn't he?

That he might have lost Sam's good will was a physical blow that ached almost as much as the one to his jaw. Dean might have ordered him to leave, but Cal knew he would not be able to leave town without knowing how the situation with Sam lay. He had a debt to repay, and Sam had looked for something from him. If Sam asked him to leave then he would go, but he would never be able to move forward if his mind stayed focused on the past.

He would trust in Sam, it was all he could do. But that didn't mean he was going to advertise his presence.

To say everything about them screamed that they came as a set, the uncontained panic in Dean's eyes when he believed Sam threatened, they spent a surprisingly large amount of their time milling around alone.

He was in a video store off the high street, chatting to the kid behind the counter in the dim light and half obscured by posters of the latest releases, but Cal was drawn to Sam like he was a beacon so there wasn't really any danger he would miss him.

Sam had a notebook out and was writing as the kid talked. They were definitely on a job then, probably something to do with the three missing students that had caused Cal to extend his search for them in this direction.

It wasn't long before Sam finished up the interview and left the store. He was more hunched over than he had been the day before, as if even more eager to hide himself, and he didn't move with the same ease and grace Cal was used to. But Cal was groaning in pain at the thought of getting out of the car; his back was stiff, and while Dean's ice-pack had reduced much of the swelling his jaw still felt twice its usual size. Cal had barely been involved and he wanted to curl up in bed and go to sleep. The dedication to be working this early in the day was something he couldn't bear to think about.

As Sam rummaged in his jacket pocket he winced, and however inadvertent it might have been Cal had caused that pain. He couldn't get out of the car and go running after Sam now; he still had no idea what to say to make up for what he'd done. He still had no real idea what it was he _had_ done, so what if he did it again?

Sam consulted the piece of paper he removed from his jacket before heading off purposely down the street. Not sure what else to do Cal restarted the car, gave Sam to the end of the block as a head start, and followed.

There was already no sign of Sam on the sidewalk by the time Cal turned the corner, but it only took his darting eyes a few seconds to locate him in a coffee shop across the street. He hovered in his car as Sam sat in the window and made a call. When he hung up Cal considered joining him, thought maybe they could take the opportunity of Sam's apparent break to try and clear the air. But before he could convince himself to get out the car Sam was greeting a tear-streaked couple and another round of nodding and note taking began.

After the coffee shop was a music store, and Sam entered flashing some kind of identification at the girl behind the counter along with that understated smile Cal needed so much.

Her movements were lethargic, and while Sam nodded encouragingly he looked drained, and Cal felt exhausted just watching them. He wondered what she was telling him. He didn't have to wonder why she was opening up; he knew that all too well. But he wished he knew what was on the badge Sam had shown her; what questions he had asked; what information he needed to know. Dean had been right when he'd said there was too much to their world Cal didn't understand. Watching Sam work, Cal knew all the internet searches and book study in the world could never teach him what these two intuitively knew.

Sam broke off to answer his phone, turning his back on the upset girl momentarily, and by the time he had hung up it was like a weight had been lifted. His whole posture had changed.

Most of all he wished he could hear what Sam had said to suddenly make her smile like that, to bring hope and understanding to her weary, prematurely aged, face.

He'd wanted to reassure himself that Sam and Dean were alive and still within reaching distance, but all he seemed to have done since setting out was prove how out of touch with their world he really was. The one path that had made any sense to him at all and he saw now how unsuited for it he was.

Sam had seen it all along.

He wondered what else Sam saw when he looked at him. Whether he noted anything of worth.

He must have done, or he would not have fostered Cal for as long as he had. But he had never really opened up either, never trusted Cal the way he wanted to be trusted.

A sharp tapping on the window by Cal's ear brought him out of his reverie with a start. The view from his window was obscured by beige. He tilted in his seat to see over it but Sam stepped back from the curb to help him out, giving him a view of a locked jaw and wide eyes, an expression caught somewhere between sardonic and unnerved.

He rolled down his window; surprised that with everything wrong with this situation, making Sam wait for the window to manually wind open was actually embarrassing him.

"You got a death wish?" were the first unfettered words out of Sam's mouth that Cal had heard in a month. Their absurdity made him want to laugh but his heart was lodged too firmly in his windpipe to allow him to do that. Instead he tore his eyes away from Sam's scrutinising gaze and took a nervous glance around him.

"Relax," Sam told him, "He's up at the University. Even Dean's sensors have their limits. I think he figured after last night you wouldn't be stupid enough to still be hanging around. Or, you know," Sam shrugged, "that I could take you if it came to that."

Cal nodded, taking in Sam's stance – unsure- and his words - half joking and half threat. He'd seen Sam fight, felt the strength and weight concealed beneath that jacket, and he didn't doubt that Sam would overpower him very quickly if it ever came to that. But what appalled him was the fact Sam seemed to be genuinely questioning whether such action would be needed. As though Cal would _ever_ hurt him. Ever threaten him.

"It's a little weird man," Sam offered uncertainly, studying Cal's face, "You know..?" he indicated with his head to where Cal was sat, car strategically parked to keep the music store Sam had just vacated in sight. "We've learned it pays not to take chances."

"Yet you're out here alone," Cal surprised himself. There was something about being around Sam that allowed him to say what he was thinking, act at his ease, no matter how unwise or intrusive the question.

"Yeah," Sam laughed ironically, "Out in public on a crowded day while Dean's holed up in the university library on his own. You any idea what a sacrifice he's making?" And Dean wasn't the only one. Cal could tell from his tone and expression that Sam had not had much choice in their division of labour.

"What do you want Cal? Why are you here?" He wasn't smiling now, he was just sad; hurt somehow, as though Cal's very presence was causing him pain. And not just because he was following Sam through a crowded high street - it went deeper than that. The look of recognition and loss that had framed Sam's features when he had saved Cal in the park, and again over coffee in the diner, was back in his eyes. As though Cal's presence was reminding him of the connection they shared, the missing piece Cal knew he could be if only Sam would ask.

"I…" There was no easy answer to that question, and he realised Sam had never once thought to ask it. In fact, this was the first time Sam had ever approached him, ever opened a conversation, and he had done so to ask the once thing Cal couldn't adequately explain. "I just… I need to talk. Please. That's all."

"We've talked. A lot. You don't need to talk, you need to listen."

"Maybe we both do."

His face remained neutral but Sam's eyes flinched as though Cal had slapped him. He seemed to be studying Cal as though seeing him for the first time, and Cal realised then that he probably was. And how could Sam have thought the mess he'd picked up of the park floor had been the real Cal? He doubted Sam had been the man in front of him during those first few days after Jessica's death.

Sam was nodding slightly, and Cal couldn't tell if he looked relieved or scared. "'k," he whispered, swallowing. "Tonight." He added firmly as Cal's hand groped for the door release. "I have some stuff that I…" he raised the notebook he was still carrying in a weak gesture. "Come by the motel tonight. I can talk to Dean; he won't…" Sam shook his head and Cal wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel reassured or not. "Just… call by the motel tonight. I'm… I'm guessing you know where it is."

Cal nodded guiltily and Sam took a step back, eyes flicking to the sides nervously.

"Okay." Sam nodded as though still trying to convince himself. "Okay. I…" and with that he turned and walked down the high street away from Cal.

"Shit," he breathed out, punching the steering wheel in frustration. He lent back in his seat, hand covering his eyes, breathing like he'd just run a marathon rather than sat in a stationary car. Talking to Sam was what he's wanted. He couldn't understand how getting what he'd wanted managed to feel so much like losing.

Lowering his hand he saw several faces turned in his direction, and he realised his mild loss of control and cursing must have been audible through his still open window. Hopefully Sam had not witnessed it.

Scanning the street again to be sure he saw a twinkling set of eyes locked in his direction. The blond knockout from the coffee shop the day before was leaning casually against a streetlamp a few yards away from Cal's car. He turned an appreciative glance in Sam's direction before giving Cal a knowing smile and pushing off into the pedestrian traffic. Cal could feel the heat of his blush as he looked away, following the tense lines of Sam's shoulders until they were lost from sight.

It was barely three o'clock. Sam would be working for hours yet and no doubt had quite a scene with Dean to live through before nightfall. Now he had his first legitimate meeting arranged there was no need for him to linger in the street, and Cal knew it would do them all a favour if he remained out of sight until then. Gave Dean time to get used to the idea of seeing him again.

He spent the rest of the day milling around a mall in the neighbouring town, mulling over just what he was going to say. He knew that he could talk to Sam easily, and felt that with the right prodding and care he could get Sam to open up too. But Dean always made him unsure, and Sam had not needed to say it to be clear that Dean would be present for their next meeting. It was more than he had expected, probably more than he deserved, but Cal knew that was a sign of Sam's unease and his mistrust. And he also knew that Sam would never say what he needed Cal to hear with his brother in the room.

He'd obsessed about it all day but it was still later than he'd planned by the time he made it back to their motel. The lights were off in their room and the car was nowhere to be seen in the parking lot. But this was their base of operations; unless they'd cleared out and moved on – and remembering the fury lining Dean's features less than 24 hours ago that thought started to fester – they would have to come back here eventually.

Sam had been vague when he'd said 'tonight'. They did the majority of their work under the cover of darkness; he couldn't be sure if Sam had intended him to be here before they went out, or much later when they'd finished and rolled back in. He honestly wasn't sure which he would have preferred – if the prospect of a wired and ready Dean or one that was spent but elated (or possibly frustrated) was the more disconcerting option. The manic gleam in his eyes after a kill was never far from Cal's mind.

He kept waiting but nothing happened. It might have been dark but it was still early enough for people to be abroad and in their way. It was too late to be canvassing any more witnesses or holed up in a library, so what were they doing?

He'd been stood up. Sam had given him just enough to ensure that he stayed put out of sight, and the second his back had been turned the Winchesters had taken off. Would they have skipped out on a job just to avoid him? He might have approached the situation the wrong way, but just what kind of a monster did they think he was?

And what the hell was he supposed to do now?

He was broken out of his self pity by the sound of his phone ringing. Unknown called ID.

Frowning, he flipped it open.

"_Is he with you?" _Wild and slightly breathless, "_If you hurt him, I swear to god…"_

"What? Who is...?" and then something clicked. "Dean? It that..? How did you even..?"

"_Never mind that, just…. Tell me where he is."_

"I don't… Who are you…?"

"_**Sam.**__ I… just let me talk to him. __**Please. **__Just let me know he's okay."_

Cal's insides went cold. He was starting to wish they _had_ skipped town.

"He's not with me. _Dean,_" he called, trying to keep the other man's attention, to head off this train of thought before it fully took off. "I don't know where Sam is. I thought he was with you."

"_Yeah, well he's not."_

"Why would you even think...?"

"_I don't know. You're the one that's been following him. Figured if anyone knew where the kid had got to it would be you."_

"Well, from what he told me I figured I should lie low for a bit, so I haven't…"

"_So you __**were **__following him?_" Cal didn't know whether that was anger or relief. "_Where are you now?_"

"At the motel where I… didn't Sam tell you?"

"_When? What part of 'I don't know where he is' aren't you getting?"_

"He told me he was going to talk to you this afternoon."

"_Well that was the plan…"_

"That I should meet you guys here later, so I left to…"

"_Great. Just frigging great. The one time you __**don't**__ have your eyes on the kid and he friggin disappears."_

"I haven't been…"

"_What the hell's the point of having a stalker if he can't even tell me where the guy gets to? I mean for crying out loud…"_

"Dean!" Cal attempted, trying to get Dean off his rant. He wasn't even sure who the other man's words were even aimed at any more, but he knew they didn't have time to waste on recriminations right now. The last time Cal had seen Sam had been six hours ago. That Dean could even bring himself to call Cal screamed his desperation, and if possible that scared Cal even more than the fact Sam was missing.

"_Dean!_" Not that he was able to get a word in edgeways to find out just exactly what 'missing' entailed.

"_Where did you see him? You know what… hold that thought... you stay where you are, I'm coming to you. And then you can tell me in detail just what the hell you've been up to with my little brother."_

"Dean?" He asked in a small voice, and this time something in Cal's tone seemed to have finally broken through.

"_What?"_ he asked briskly.

"Is… Is Sam okay?"

There was a long pause.

"_He wouldn't be missing if he was okay Cal,"_ Dean sighed wearily. "_Please, just sit tight, I'm on my way. I'll be there soon."_

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**A/n:** I'm back. I want to thank Sendintheclowns for all her help with the geography in this, when my brain just froze and refused to co-operate in logical manner. Any errors are due to me messing with it after all her hard work.

**Part 6**

Dean pulled into the lot with a slightly erratic squeal of tyres and came to a juddering halt along side where Cal was parked, car straddling two spaces. Cal was still trying to put his thoughts in order; his brain seemed to be moving so slowly that the noise and speed of Dean's entrance momentarily stunned him.

An impatient pounding of the horn brought him back to himself, and the look Dean was throwing him from the next car quickly got him moving. Overly conscious of the other man's attention, and his judgement, Cal clambered warily out of the car and hurried around to the passenger side of the Impala.

He closed the door behind him with a creak and a thump and the atmosphere inside the car was immediately stifling. He had a million questions, but he didn't think he would be able to speak - have dared speak - even if his mind calmed down enough to allow him to pick just one.

Dean was holding himself so stiffly that Cal could feel his tension, ached just looking at him, but now Cal was in the car Dean was determinedly staring out of the windshield at the closed motel door, jaw clenching, and had not turned sideways to take him in.

"Dean?" he prompted hesitantly. For all his previous bluster and impatience, now that he had got here Dean seemed to have stalled.

Dean continued to ignore him for a couple more seconds, breathing deep in a way Cal hoped to God would calm him. Then he turned on the engine and reversed out of the lot. It wasn't until they had left the motel behind that he finally broke the silence, voice crisp and businesslike, no trace of the panicked brother that had been on the other end of the phone.

"Three people have gone missing here in the past two weeks. All 18-25, all healthy, and all disappearing while on route through the same quarter of the city." The more Dean talked the calmer he seemed to get, as though clinging to what he _did_ know was allowing him to regain some control over other uncertainties. "We've traced the same pattern westward for the past four months. All university towns, all off the ­I-95. Six or seven victims over the course of a month then nothing, until it picks up somewhere else and the whole thing starts all over again."

"What's doing it?"

"Could be a lot of things. Some kind of skin walker or incubus maybe - something corporeal, not tied to one spot. Something that understands road networks and knows that focusing on a large area with a major school means a ready supply of people. And the possibility no-one will connect the victims until it's ready to move on."

"Any of the missing people ever found?" Cal was getting curious despite himself, not sure why Dean felt the need to share this with him but hungry for any information that might help the night's turn of events make sense.

"All of them."

"Were any of them able to say anything useful about what happened to them?"

Dean let his eyes leave the road and looked at him for the first time, and Cal would almost have thought he looked amused by the question if he didn't also look pained.

"No obvious cause of death," Dean continued, and Cal joined him in staring out of the windshield this time. He didn't want to either see or have seen the impact of Dean's words. "All of them turned up within 3-5 days in parks, urban wasteland, abandoned plots of real-estate. Most autopsy reports listed COD as inconclusive, a couple suggested exposure. No blood loss or broken bones. Only mild signs of a struggle, which suggests something strong enough to take you out quickly - or something with some other way of disabling its victims. A few MEs were more thorough, noticed abnormalities in the blood work. High white blood cell counts, weird electrolyte imbalances - odd but not particularly fatal. But a couple of accounts have drawn up this."

Dean reached over to the back seat and handed Cal a file. Opening it wordlessly he was confronted by several blown up photographs of purple star-like bruising, a thick wad of other notes, and what looked sickeningly like a Xeroxed autopsy record.

"Are these..?"

"The same pattern of bruising on the side of the neck, showing up in Washington, DC, Baltimore, and last week here in Philadelphia

"What caused it?"

"That's what we're here to find out."

"You must have some kind of a theory," he pressed, breathing a sigh of relief when Dean smiled slightly rather than frowned in his direction. He was aware that questioning Dean's lack of information at this stage, given the stakes, could be a dangerous thing.

"Incubus, vampire of some kind. Something that feeds off a person's energy, their youth. Would explain the ages of the victims, the way it's targeting university towns, the time lag between a person going missing and a body showing up. Maybe even some of the weird blood work."

"So this..?" Cal angled one of the photos in Dean's direction.

"You are looking at one killer hicky."

Cal paused to try and give his brain time to process that thought and found that he couldn't.

"And you think whatever did this took Sam?"

"I know we're in the hunting ground of something that targets strong, healthy 18-25 year olds and that Sam is missing. And I know he wouldn't just not turn up to meet me when he said he would; he'd have called or left a message by now if he could. So yeah, I think this thing has him."

"Which means he's alive at least, right?"

"Until he pisses it off."

"What makes you think he'll...?"

"He's Sam," Dean muttered, but his lips were twitching. "Occupational hazard," he clarified. "And of all the thousands of students in this area it just happens to snaffle Sam? I'm not buying it."

"You think it knew why you were here?"

"I think maybe we haven't been as subtle about being here as we could have been."

There was no heat or accusation behind Dean's words, purely fact, but Cal felt the blow none the less. They'd been out of town for the bar fight and not exactly in one of the usual student haunts, but if his injuries had made Sam slow to fight back, Cal wasn't sure he would ever forgive himself.

"So what now?" They'd made it back into town and the streets were still busy, but if the area fed the university night life it would be vibrant until the early hours. Cal couldn't stop himself from craning to scan the faces in the crowd, knowing even as he did so that it was a useless gesture. If they were going to find Sam strolling down the high street Dean would never have contacted him. But he could see Dean doing the same thing beside him and he wondered if for Dean, like Cal, scanning for that face was habit, or if the hunter was looking for something else entirely.

Dean pulled into a spot at the side of the road with a swerve that threw Cal into the door, and killed the engine. There were a couple of minutes silence while Cal waited for some clue as to what he was to do next and Dean continued to scan the crowd, brow furrowed in thought.

"I was at the university checking into the victims so far – records, transcripts, anything that might have connected them, might have given this thing cause to find them other than wrong place wrong time, any indication as to where its hunting ground is."

"Anything come up?"

"We only have 3 missing so far, and tracing patterns like that is always easier with hindsight. I did some checking into the area too, made a list of parkland and abandoned spaces that might act as a dumping ground. They've got to be close to wherever this thing is staying, but whether that's an apartment, abandoned building, or a nice dank cave in the woods…" Dean shrugged, "So basically I got one missing brother and a big fat pile of nothing."

"What about Sam? What was he looking for?"

"A bit of everything really. We still hadn't talked to the friends and family of the most recent victim. Sarah Holloway went missing some time Friday night. We were trying to get a clearer picture of from where, see if we could narrow down where this thing might be."

"And you think he did just that? He found it?"

Dean let out a frustrated sigh. "I don't know, man. If he did, maybe he didn't know it. We don't _really_ know what we're up against. After the hour he spent lecturing me about not following up on anything I found without backup I like to think he'd have the sense to heed his own advice. I think at some point during the vast list of things he was going to look into today he got a little bit too close for comfort, and maybe it was easier to get him out of the way now than risk him getting any closer. Or figuring out what he'd found."

"So you need to retrace his steps." Dean seemed pretty on top of things, organised. Not the chaotic jumble of thoughts he'd been on the phone.

"Which is where you come in."

"I was beginning to wonder."

"Sam had a lot of queries he was going to follow up on; that's a lot of ground to cover. I don't know when he was taken, and I don't want to waste time. If you were following him you know where he went, and who he saw, and… please, just gimme a place to start."

"You didn't ring me to ask for my help…" Cal mused slowly, something about Dean's line of logical thinking not really tallying with the raw emotion that had first pulled into the motel parking lot. "You rang me because you thought I had him - not that he was with me, because he'd have called and said he was running late if he could, but that I'd taken him. Against his will." How could Dean think that?

"Well I was kinds hoping that, yeah," Dean said, unashamed.

"You were _hoping_ that I'd…"

"Well the alternative is _this_." Dean yelled, fist thumping the steering wheel with a passion that made Cal flinch. "So _yeah_. I was hoping the kid who'd got in way over his head had managed to sideline him - because people are unpredictable and that scares the crap out of me sometimes, but this thing is very set in its MO. It knows what it wants and it can't be begged and it can't be bargained with, it just wants to feed and then kill. I don't know what the _hell __**you **_want, but at least Sam would have had a chance of talking you out of doing something stupid, and I'm guessing you would be a darn sight easier to overpower than whatever this is. So _yeah _Cal_._ I was _really_ hoping you had him tucked way somewhere"

Dean's fear and anger were making him sick.

"You really think I'd be capable of… you think that's what this is about?"

"I don't know what this is about, and I have no idea what you're capable of Cal. I've never stalked anyone before."

Cal snorted out a humourless laugh, holding up the files of research in his hands

"Not anything I didn't intend to kill."

Dean was looking away and breathing heavily now, and Cal was stunned into silence.

"I…" he swallowed, "I would _never…"_

"Then help me find him. Please."

He didn't know if he was more angry or frightened by Dean's mistrust, but those worried and beseeching eyes held more power than Cal's confused emotions.

"I didn't see him for long," he conceded reluctantly. "I… he knew I was there. I think he knew I'd been there a while; he was just giving me the choice to get bored and stop. Or else he was trying to work out what to say to me. But he confronted me after he'd been in a music store off Market Street. Told me to cut it out. He said he had a lot of stuff to do but if I left now he'd talk to me at the motel later so I went, I swear. This was a little after two-thirty and I haven't seen him since. I've been over in Springfield and only got back to your motel about an hour before you called me."

"When he tried to get rid of you was he nervous? Edgy? Was he maybe trying to keep a low profile and worried having you around might make him more conspicuous?"

"No… I don't know. I don't think so. He was… nervous I guess. Uncomfortable," he clarified, shifting uneasily, "But I think that was just because…" he trailed off, not sure how to finish that train of thought, but as Dean's expression hardened Cal knew it had been understood. "He seemed tired, not worried."

"Yeah, well, being watched all week's gotta make you a little twitchy. What else?"

"I haven't been watching him all week," He spoke up defensively.

"Cal. I think at this point it's a little late to be coy, alright. What…?"

"No, Dean." It was important he make the other man understand he wasn't the psycho Dean seemed to think he was. "I only got into town yesterday."

"What!?" Dean's head snapped up at that and his eyes were suspicious. "He said he felt we were being watched…"

"Yesterday afternoon, on the main street as you were getting back into your car," Cal supplied for him. "I think he sensed me then; he looked around. But I'd only just got into town. That was the first time I'd seen you since that haunted bridge in ­Oregon - I was only there for a couple of hours," Cal hastily clarified as Dean's eyes widened incredulously, "Just… I wanted to check that you were both okay."

"Cal… that time by the car was the _second_ time Sam said something about feeling watched since we got here. Are you sure you didn't..?"

"I swear."

"Shit." Cal jumped as Dean thumped the steering wheel in irritation. "Son of a bitch. It knew we were here. We got close in Baltimore but it skipped town. It wasn't until the first body showed up here that we knew where it had moved on to. I was worried at first, but after last night I assumed it was you. Even if Sam thought he was being followed this afternoon he might not have thought to get out of sight, because he probably figured it was you."

"But he'd told me to…"

"Yeah, and I'd told you a couple a times before not to show your face around here. How well did you follow _those_ instructions? Well this is great," Dean huffed out in irritation, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"Was there anyone else around? Anyone who might have overheard? You notice anything suspicious at all?" There was an air of desperation to Dean's questioning now, and the thought that Cal might not actually be of any help was chilling. "You get any sense that maybe you weren't the only one paying attention to him?"

"No, no-one. Well, the cute blonde guy was giving him the eye but…"

"What?"

"He was in the coffee shop, too, now I come to think about it." Cal mused, "Yesterday afternoon when I was waiting for you. He ordered an extra-large macchiato to go, hung around by the sugar shakers for the longest time, playing with the foam. Almost made me miss you guys."

"And he was staring at Sam?"

Cal nodded.

"And you didn't think to mention this because..?"

"I know he's your brother and everything, but you've _seen_ Sam right? I mean, it's not that unusual that someone might…"

"Okay, enough," Dean held up a hand looking slightly panicked. "Start at the beginning," Dean spat out, "I need you to tell me _everything_ you saw today."

Reluctantly Cal complied. He was aware how damning his own words would appear in Dean's eyes, but by this point his worry was stronger than his pride. Dean would not be here if he had any other option and Cal would not make Sam suffer for his silence. The video store, the phone call in the coffee shop and drink with the upset couple (Sarah's older sister and brother-in-law, Dean supplied), and the girl in the record shop.

"And the next thing I know he's banging on the window. He was working off a list, said he still had a lot of places he wanted to get to. That's all he told me."

"And he wasn't looking over his shoulder or..?"

"No, I've told you. He just looked drained. He'd had people sobbing on his shoulder most of the morning and I guess that's kind of catching. Everyone he spoke to seemed pretty miserable… Except…"

"Except who?"

Cal sighed. "It's probably nothing. He got a phone call while he was in the last place. It was the most animated I'd seen him all day. He said something to the girl after that which seemed to get her out of her melancholy funk. I thought maybe he'd given her hope."

"He was excited over a phone call?" Dean mused, "Well it could have been anyone; someone he talked to earlier in the day getting back to him or one of our contacts with some intel… We need to know what was said during that call…"

"You think..?"

"I think it's the best lead we've got right now. Tell me about this girl."

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Part Seven**

Izzy Westbrook had been Sarah's roommate, and the one who'd reported her missing some time Saturday afternoon. Watching Dean work was frightening. He'd been angry during the ride over, resentful of the time it had taken to get back to the motel and check out the girl in their notes, worried that the only thing they had to go on involved hitting the University dorms in the hope of catching her. But the instant she opened her door it was as though a switch had been pressed; he was no-longer Dean Winchester, increasingly worried brother, but Dean Entwistle, freelance journalist with the ID to prove it.

"Salt and oil?" Cal queried for the fourth time, hurrying to keep up with Dean's pace as they strode across the quad back to the car. "That's 'weird but helpful' how?" And how exactly did that mean Sarah could still be found alive? "Dean!"

Dean turned, holding up a hand to stop and silence him. "Look, Cal, I got it from here, okay," He said before continuing on his way to the car. It took Cal a few seconds to work out he was being ditched, and a few seconds more to work out what that must mean.

"No, come on. Let me help," he called, breaking into a jog to catch up with Dean at the rear of the Impala.

"You've helped enough."

It was true that Dean would not have found Izzy and the weird 'packing salt' clue for hours, possibly days, if it weren't for Cal pointing him in the right direction, but this wasn't over yet. They still didn't have Sam back, even if Dean seemed to suddenly think he might know where to find him.

"But I can still…"

"No." Dean whirled on him. "You can do what? Your inexperience is half the reason we're out here. It's done. We killed the black dog. I'm sorry we were too late to save Thom, I really am, but it's over. You need to go back to your life, but instead you're always calling and following and asking questions - and you know Sam's just too polite to tell you to shove it, but it's one more thing that he shouldn't have to deal with, and one more reminder that…" he took a deep steadying breath.

"You could have got yourself killed last night Cal, or us, or at least badly injured. But you just can't leave it alone. You make him guilty and flustered and he can't do his job, and he _trusts_ you, despite everything, so he's walking around with his guard down and this thing grabs him. Do you get that? If you weren't here then Sam probably would be. So tell me, please, just what more do you think you can do?"

Cal couldn't immediately find words, couldn't force anything past the lump in his throat. Dean was right - he didn't know what to do. He just knew he had to do something. He had to at least try and make up for his mistakes, and all they had cost.

"Please." He whispered finally, the only truth he could give. "I need to know he's okay."

Dean huffed and turned away from him, wrenching open the car door and throwing himself inside. And Cal did the only thing he could think of to ensure he wasn't left behind: he raced over to the passenger door and clambered in uninvited. He slammed the door shut with a decisive thump, trying to block out the expression of murderous incredulity and rage that Dean was throwing in his direction, or the way Dean's hands were clenching as though eager to make it around Cal's neck.

"Get out."

Dean's voice was a low, dangerous growl but Cal swallowed and stood his ground.

"What the Hell do you think you're doing?"

"I can help," he tried again, ignoring the derisive turn of Dean's mouth. And maybe he couldn't, but he knew he had to try. "Please, I _need_ to help. I can't just sit around and wait. I need to do something. I need to… it's _Sam._"

"And he's all I've got." Dean exploded. "What do you care, Cal? Why does he matter so much to you? He's my… With Dad gone we're all that's left, and I'm not going to…" Dean caught himself and tailed off with a sigh. He didn't sound purely angry anymore so much as tired. Hurting and scared; a familiar look of loss on his face that Cal had not expected to see; would probably never see as long as Sam was close by. But Dean had no need for his walls now.

"It's _Sam_," Cal answered carefully, but in truth he thought that should be all the answer Dean needed. Dean just snorted and looked away out of the windshield and Cal wasn't sure if he'd got it or not. "He saved my life. In the park that night, he _saved_ me. And not just from that creature; he saved me from _me_. From letting Thom's death define who I was.

"I didn't think I was going to make it, losing Thom. But Sam showed me… after what happened with Jessica and how he came back from that…"

"He told you about that? About Jess?" Dean swallowed, and Cal didn't know whether he was angry or hurt.

"I guessed. I could see it on him. He was screaming out with it. That's part of why I was so drawn to him."

"It's just, he doesn't really talk too much about… you know. And..." Dean continued as though he was justifying himself, and Cal wasn't sure to whom.

"Having someone who understood what I was going through… It made things easier to not feel so alone. And it seemed that maybe he… I think he needed that too. I didn't mean to overstep my mark, I swear…" Cal added hurriedly, "I just wanted to help. And I needed his help. He showed me clearly he couldn't have done it alone." Dean was silent now, frozen in place by his confession.

"I just…. I had all this grief and nothing to do with it and it turned into something twisted and unpleasant. It owned me. Just knowing someone else had felt it too… it was freeing for a little while. I got the impression it was freeing for Sam too… But I messed up and I know that. I got too dependent, and that wasn't fair. I wanted the opportunity to say that. That's why I… tonight. I just wanted to be able to put things right. Because he saved my life with this big, heroic gesture and I could never match that, but I can at least…"

Dean was smiling now, affectionate but somehow mocking. Cal was opening his heart, admitting his failures, and Dean was smiling.

"He _saved_ my _life_" Cal attempted one last time in justification.

"He really didn't. Well… I mean, he _did_. But… not like you think."

"He jumped in the path of that thing for me, a perfect stranger, and I can never…"

"Dude, that was an accident," Dean exclaimed, smiling fondly. "Kid's a klutz, tripped over his own oversized feet. It was pitch dark. We didn't even know you were there, you just happened to break his fall."

"What?" It was as though he could hear the words, but didn't understand them. His whole perception of reality was shifting again.

"Scared the crap outta me, I can tell ya. One minute he's running, the next he's careening headlong into the path of a charging demonic killing machine. Neither of us will be forgetting that one any time soon. Not if I have any say in it."

"You mean…"

"No destiny. No grand gestures. He'd probably have broken his neck if you hadn't slowed his decent. You don't owe him anything."

"I owe him everything," Cal whispered, but he could see from Dean's face that he didn't believe him. That Sam had never told him exactly what Cal had been doing on the rise that night. "I owe you both. And you _need_ my help, you know you do. You might not like it, but it's true. I might not be able to fight, but I can get Sam and the girl out, let you focus on killing this thing."

He didn't like the thought of Dean going it alone, letting his mistrust of Cal mean the risk of going in without backup. Because they might not be able to count on Sam to provide it.

Dean didn't respond, but at least he seemed to have mellowed slightly. They sat in silence for a minute, Cal waiting to see whether Dean was ready to attempt and remove him again, or if his words had broken through.

"So what is it about salt?" Cal finally dared ask.

"Daren Hall's body had traces of salt and machine oil on it," Dean explained reluctantly.

"Daren Hall? That's the last body that was recovered, right?" Cal questioned, flicking through the file of notes that had been left on the passenger seat.

"Yeah. Izzy heard Sam ask if the report was finished, and if there were any more details to be released. I'm guessing he was talking to the coroner. The initial exam suggested exposure – no surprise there – but Sam must have asked her to call when the official autopsy report had been done.

"The body was found outdoors, by a boating lake. Not exactly the prime spot for getting salt and oil imbedded into your clothing. The sight the body was found isn't as important as where it was for the three days Daren was missing."

"And how does salt tell you that?"

"It doesn't, not decisively. But there are different compositions, qualities. Packing salt implied preserving something. Machine oil suggests a factory or a warehouse of some kind. There's a whole swath of industrial land within the area we think this guy is working out of – a lot of it fallen out of use. Believe me; I've had my nose pressed to that map page all afternoon."

"And we should be able to narrow the list down depending on what the sites were originally used for!" Cal finished excitedly.

"That was the general idea, yeah." Dean agreed, pulling out of the school's grounds and heading for the commercial district.

"There's a list of sites at the back," he indicated to the file still in Cal's hands. "See if you can find any bottling plants, meat factories, anything that might fit the bill."

Cal nodded, thrilled to be trusted with such a task. To be doing something positive at last. But while he may have been able to reduce the number of out of use industrial units, there was still a considerable amount of land left to cover.

"It's gonna take us all night to search all these places," Dean groaned. "Longer, probably." He was chewing his lip in frustration, and Cal knew that like him, Dean was trying not to think too hard about what Sam could be facing while they searched.

"If we split up we could go faster," Cal offered.

"No!... No. I just… This thing got the better of Sam in the middle of the day. We're playing on its turf now and I don't think it's a good idea for you to go anywhere alone. Besides…. It's not gonna take too kindly to us being here, and you're right; when we find him I might need your help getting him out of there."

Dean wasn't looking at him, and for perhaps the first time Cal realised just what they could be facing. This thing had taken Sam down, and Cal had seen Sam in a fight. Even Dean had no idea what condition to expect Sam to be in when they found him. Just what this thing could do. It was another of those fiercely contradictory sides to Dean's personality that Cal was having trouble adjusting to: that Dean could go overboard with the protective older brother routine, viewing Cal and barflies as threats, and yet knowingly lead them into haunted dorm rooms, black dog territories or woodlands strewn with mutilated body parts. He didn't know whether to be offended or impressed by the level of danger his friendship posed in Dean's mind.

But he didn't voice that, he just nodded his agreement that he would stick close and obey instructions, relieved that his bravery was not to be tested and he would not have to venture into the dark night alone.

They parked by the entrance to the industrial sector and slid out of the car.

"Here." Cal's stomach went cold as Dean pressed a small hand gun into his sweating palms. He hadn't held a gun since that night on the ridge, and he had never wanted to again. Sam had taken it off him, and it was for Sam now that he would take it up again.

"Just point and fire," Dean tried to reassure him, obviously misinterpreting his unease. "It's loaded with silver bullets. A shot to the heart's probably the only way to kill this thing, but if you hit it anywhere else you're still gonna slow it down. Just…" Dean reached out and grabbed his arm, frowning thoughtfully, "Just be sure it's the bad guy you're aiming at, okay. There's at least one missing girl still out there. And Sam… And don't go shooting me either." Dean continued, and Cal tucked the gun into his waistband out of sight before Dean changed his mind and took it from him. He didn't want it, but he wanted to go in unarmed even less.

Cal wasn't a big guy; he had always considered himself light on his feet, but the level of stealth with which Dean moved made Cal feel oversized and awkward. He tried to keep in Dean's wake, to make the best use of the shadows, but he was using up so much of his energy trying to mirror Dean's movements that he wasn't in tune with his surroundings. He didn't sense danger coming until Dean had thrown an arm out to physically stop Cal from moving.

They were approaching the road after a painfully slow search of the second building on their list. Cal was close to voicing his impatience at Dean's overcautious speed when Dean stopped him in his tracks. The eyes flashing at him in annoyance made Cal realise the weird hand gestures Dean had been issuing moments before had perhaps not been a sign of his own frustration, but had probably been telling him to stop.

There was a figure moving silently away from them in the shadows on the opposite side of the road. As it passed close to a security light Cal caught a glimpse of sandy hair and a prominent chin.

Dean raised his eyebrows in a silent question and Cal nodded. That was Hot Macchiato Guy in the flesh, skulking his way between a tile manufacturers and a bathroom warehouse. Alone. At 4:47 in the morning.

"You sure know how to pick 'em." Dean breathed, waiting until the newcomer was nearing the corner of the next building before leading them onwards, even slower and more careful than before.

They followed him for almost 15 minute before he disappeared into a warehouse at the end of the block. He entered the large abandoned building, and he didn't come out again. In all likelihood Sam was inside that warehouse, or if not, they could at least force coffee guy to tell them where he _was. _Cal's every instinct was screaming at him to get going, to see this through, but Dean stayed where he was, face grim, unmoving.

Cal tried to indicate his impatience silently but Dean just scowled at him and shook his head. Cal got the impression he would have growled along with the action if he wasn't too afraid of the noise echoing in the disserted street. Dean remained where he was, head cocked to the side listening for a while longer before nodding to himself, straightening up, and drawing his gun.

Swallowing back bile, Cal followed suit.

"Stay behind me," Dean ordered in a whisper, and no instruction had ever been more unnecessary.

The inside of the factory was alarmingly spacious, and a long wall lined with windows lit it up in a hazy dawn glow. They crossed quickly to the far wall to utilise the last of the shadows, footsteps echoing alarmingly in the large disused space despite their best efforts to conceal them.

Dean moved like a man on high alert, eyes and gun darting to take in every sound or movement, cover every eventuality with terrifying precision. He was calm and organised, and Cal felt like a boy playing at G I Joe who had suddenly been landed in a war zone; fat fingers and shaking hands, a pale imitation of the adept warrior that lived in his head. The one that said he could do this.

Cal tried to ignore how open he felt as Dean led them swiftly towards a door at the other end of the vast room, tried to ignore the tingling of imaginary eyes in his skin, the potential swooping threats. He had to bite his lip to contain his own ragged breathing, sure he was going to be the thing that gave them away. That would make all Dean's care and effort worthless.

The fact there was a gun in his hand just seemed to make the whole thing worse. He didn't feel safer for having it, just the constant clawing knowledge of why he held it, as heavy in his stomach as the cold mental was in his hands. But he had to keep moving forward. Sam had saved his life, whether intentionally or not, and he wouldn't betray that. He could still feel the weight of Sam's body as it pressed against his, pinned him to the ground until danger had passed, and he tried to draw strength from it. Strength in duty.

Dean held up his hand again at the end of a narrow corridor, and knowing what he meant this time Cal paused and listened, trying to pick out what Dean had sensed that had caused him to stop.

There was noise and movement coming from a room to their right. Dean's back was pressed against the wall by it's entrance, gun pulled tight against his body but fingers ready as he craned his neck to look inside. He glanced back at Cal with a hard look that said '_stay here'_, and then spun into the room out of his sight.

There was a muffled gasp and a scream from the room ahead of him. As much as he wanted to obey the instruction to stay put, the corridor felt open and dangerous without Dean in it.

He peered cautiously around the doorframe.

Cal's eyes were immediately captured by the young blonde woman fastened to a pillar in the centre of the open room. She was screaming around the gag in her mouth, visibly struggling to break free.

Dean was approaching her with one finger to his lips but her eyes were fixed on the gun in his other hand. He still didn't lower it, even as he brought his free hand down, palm out in an expression of supplication.

Dean's gaze spun to meet his the instant Cal made it through the door. His eyes flicked from Cal to the girl and he jerked his head in her direction, turning his back on the pair of them to sweep the remainder of the room.

Again Cal understood the instruction. _'Shut her up'_.

Hating himself for thinking it, Cal was eager to comply. She might have been bound and gagged but the sound of her fear echoed loudly in the silent room. He could smell it, and it only served to amplify his own. They didn't know where about in this warehouse their opponent was, and the girl's continued struggles could fast lose them the element of surprise.

Curbing the impulse to race across the room and _make_ her shut up, Cal pushed down his own panic and approached slowly, as though she were a skittish animal. The look of fear in her bloodshot eyes was like a punch to the stomach, so placing his trust in Dean he slowly and deliberately tucked the gun he'd been given out of sight, trying not to think about how much more vulnerable and exposed he felt without it.

"Shhh, Sarah, it's okay, we're here to get you out of here. It is Sarah, right?"

She started at the sound of her name, eyes still wide and fearful, but while her ragged breathing and whimpering were still loud to his straining ears, the screaming had stopped. Cal could tell it was a temporary pause; she would be more than willing to start up again. He knew that, because he knew he would react the same way.

He wished now that he had one of the Winchester's IDs. Something to show her that might lend validity to his presence, but as he continued to murmur softly it became apparent that his quiet words of reassurance - and Dean's professional attitude with his gun - combined to provide the trust and security she needed.

He tried to remember the file he'd just read; he couldn't remember how long this girl had been missing. Her skin and clothes were streaked with dirt, her face bruised and tearstained, the gag a filthy rag in her mouth. Cal reached shaking fingers towards it slowly, explaining all the while what he was going to do, stressing the need for her to remain silent once the impediment was removed.

She nodded in understanding but couldn't help the sob that escaped her mouth once it was free.

"Thank you," she whispered, voice hoarse and raw from her ineffectual screaming. "Thank you… oh god thank you." She was shaking, shifting to present Cal with her bonds. Her gratitude was almost too much from him to bear. It was stifling, and he wished she would stop looking at him in that way. He'd been in the right place at the right time and was calming her as much for his own benefit as hers. The watery gratitude was only making him feel selfish and inadequate.

They were both shaking too much for Cal to be able to loosen her bonds, and the rope was too thick for him to get far. He glanced around for Dean, knowing the other man would have a knife or some other way of getting her free.

"It seems clear for now, but we have to move," Dean breathed softly, materialising so close Cal started, and he had to clap his hand over the girl's mouth to stifle her surprise, hating himself as she flinched her bruised cheek away from his touch. "Did it come through here?" Dean addressed the girl, who looked between Cal and Dean's gun uncertainly. "Sarah, we need you to tell us where it went."

She whimpered uncertainly, but otherwise remained silent.

"Dean… Do you have something...?" he indicated to the roped fixing Sarah to the pillar, sensing she might be calmer and more able to help them once she was free. Dean sighed, obviously trying to push down his impatience, and crouched to feel at his boot. But while he was down there his whole posture changed, grew taunt.

"Dean," Cal prompted, but the other man didn't acknowledge him. In the several seconds Cal watched him Dean's jaw tightened, but he made no other movement.

Tearing his eyes away from Dean's paling face Cal turned to see what had captured his attention. He needed Dean focused. The idea that he wasn't, that Cal was alone in here with a scared brother and a traumatised girl, was enough to almost bring him to his knees.

And then he saw what Dean was looking at, and forgot how to breathe.

Hanging from a pipe fixed to the far wall was another coiling length of rope, empty and gleaming russet in the dim light. The industrial grey of the pipe and wall were also streaked with blood, matted with those deep brown strands Cal had last admired in the sunlight a little over 15 hours before.

If there could be any doubt as to the identity of the rooms other occupant, Sam's bag, open with contents spilling in the shadows, was quick to stamp out any remaining naïve hope.

A knife blinked up at him from the wreckage tauntingly, its blade stained the same violent shade, surface not completely dry, still glinting in the dawn glow.

Cal swallowed and looked away. His movement seemed to galvanise Dean into action.

"Where did it take him?" he rounded on the girl, voice still low, but it was fear and anger that were modulating Dean's tones into that low growl, not any conscious effort on his part, Cal could tell.

"The guy that was there," he continued when Sarah was slow in answering him, "He was right there." Dean tilted the captive girl's head in that direction so she was staring at the blood smeared wall. The whites of her eyes showed and her nostrils flared, concentrating more on the gun Dean was waving close to her face than the wall where he was pointing.

"I know this is a lot to take in but we have to act now, and I need you to tell us what happened, where he is."

Cal could understand Dean's urgency – the sight and scent of this room had brought his own fear alive with a powerful strength, forcing him to confront everything he'd been trying to ignore since first learning Sam was missing. But he had been the scared and confused victim once before. He knew from experience that it wasn't until he'd been picked up off the ground and they'd at least attempted to reassure him he was safe; until he'd been learnt to fear them less than he did everything else in the night, that he had been able of coherent thought.

"Dean," he said quietly, shaking his head. He needed to get the other man to focus for just a moment; to not put his own fear above hers. Reaching over he grabbed the knife that he knew was concealed at Dean's ankle. He didn't much care at that moment what Dean's reaction to the intrusion might be, but was still relieved it was a sigh and a nod, a subdued apology, rather than any kind of protest.

He worked in silence until she was finally free, but he didn't relinquish his hold on the knife and Dean didn't ask for it back. He felt a margin calmer with the solid handle tight in his grip, a weapon he understood and knew how to use. It looked like this thing liked to get up close and personal with its victims, and for some reason the knife made him feel safer than the gun. Held different connotations. Maybe Dean knew that, or just liked the way Cal's hands were shaking less while he was holding it.

"It's okay," he reassured her, feeling her body tense up as though ready for flight. "You're safe now, and we're going to get you out of here, I promise, but first we need you to help us. Can you do that?"

She swallowed and nodded jerkily and Cal knew whatever they needed from her they needed to get fast, before her nerves deserted her.

"The man that brought you here," Dean took up quietly, crouching at her side, "We need to know where he went. Did he come through here just now?"

He'd expected Dean's first question to be about Sam, some kind of explanation for the state this thing had left him in and where he was now. He didn't know whether it was a sign of Dean's restraint or unease that it hadn't been.

She was nodding again, staring at a door in the corner of the room. "He came back," she whispered. "He's here, he came back."

Dean nodded his understanding, and Cal could tell that while _his_ attention was fixed solely on the girl, Dean was in tune with every part of their surroundings.

"There was another man in here with you," Cal continued. He knew Dean probably wanted to get answers for himself, but Cal felt better knowing Dean's attention was on keeping them alive and safe rather than asking questions. Dean would be listening, but questioning the girl, reassuring her – this was something Cal _could _do, and in Dean's world those things were thin on the ground.

"Sam," she offered, "He said his name was Sam."

Dean stiffened but said nothing.

"And where is he now?" Cal felt his heart beating a little louder.

"It took him… it was mad," she was shaking again, obviously unwilling, but between Dean's solid presence and Cal's gentle reassurance they were able to get a picture of how things had gone down.

She had been sleeping when Sam had been brought in and didn't see him arrive, probably too overcome by the affects of whatever coffee shop dude had done to her to provide a clear picture. But when she'd woken up fully he was there, and he'd been nice. Said it was going to be okay, which was crazy given he was tied to the far wall. She though he must have been gagged at one point, but by the time she'd been with it enough to pay attention the material was around his neck rather than in his mouth.

He didn't really say much, just fidgeted a lot until their captor had come back.

Sam had taunted it because he didn't understand what it could do. He'd called it over, goaded it to go after him and leave her alone. And it had. It had approached him, and then there had been a thump and a god awful hissing scream. She couldn't see what had happened but she thought maybe Sam was free.

But it had still overpowered him.

It had been angry and it had been violent, and just maybe it had been hurt, but it had still carted Sam away. And when it had come back it had been happy and it hadn't been limping any more.

That had been over four hours ago. She'd heard their assailant moving around, go out and return, but she hadn't _seen_ either of them since.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Part Eight**

He'd wanted to go with Sarah to the car; not because of the sense of 'away', of avoiding the violence and confrontation that had been building in Dean since nightfall. It wasn't about cowardice, it wasn't even about Sam; it was about the trembling young woman clinging to his arm being told she would have to go wait for them in the car. Alone.

And it was about Cal. About how for the first time in a long time he felt he knew exactly where he should be. And that was not following in Dean's wake through the dirt and grime of a monster infested warehouse, searching for someone else's family.

Calming Sarah and getting her to tell her tale was the most alive, the most useful, the most _real_ Cal had felt since Thom. It was a purpose that felt solid in the way being around Sam felt like desperation, like standing on the edge of a precipice. Never fully in control. It was where he could make a difference, where his actions could count. Where he could draw on his own skills and experiences and help someone equally in need of saving, and he didn't have to fight monsters or put his life in danger to do it.

But Dean had the clenched jaw and the big gun and Cal had been overruled. It wasn't as though Sarah had been helpless. She'd been given Cal's gun, Sam's still bloodstained knife, and the assurance that the man that took her would not make it past them to reach her. She'd been told there was a car parked half a mile away by the front gate, and she should get in and lock the doors and not open them for anyone.

Dean had surprised him by escorting her to the entrance; as much as he must be itching to proceed he would not move forward until he knew for sure she was safe.

Intellectually he knew that Dean had made the right call; they couldn't continue their search with Sarah in tow. Her shaking and her fear would be a liability much like Cal's own, and as Dean told him quietly once they had seen her to safety - he needed Cal's attention on Dean and their surroundings rather than the girl.

Cal had a good idea where Dean's attention was going to be once they found Sam, but he didn't like to point that contradiction out.

They continued past the room where Sam and Sarah had been held in silence. Dean's whole demeanour had changed, had not bounced back from the brutal realisation that Sam had been hurt here. While they had been aimlessly prowling the streets and bickering about their obligations, Sam had been fighting, and possibly dying, alone.

With Dean in his current dark mood it was hard to forget the harsh, bitter words that he had spoken. The blame. It was for more than just Sam's sake that Cal was praying they found him safe and whole at the end of their search.

But since they were following a tail of blood down an echoing corridor, he couldn't help but think maybe that was a naïve hope.

Crimson hand prints were smeared against the dusty grey walls at hip, knee, and then ankle heights, showing up on corners and door frames and leading them a sordid dance. Cal couldn't tell whether Sam - neither of them questioned who was behind the prints - was deliberately marking the way in the hope someone might follow, or was more concerned with trying to stop himself from being dragged.

Either possibility made him feel sick inside.

There was an electric humming in the air and the lights in the corridor up ahead were flickering spastically, the artificial glare a shock to the senses and his tired eyes after so much gloom. Electricity – any sign of civilisation – seemed so out of place, adding to the dream like quality, the absolute ridiculousness that he should be here when such a short time ago he'd been in an office fetching tea and worrying about the patterns on his ties.

He almost didn't know which version of himself felt the most unreal – neither of them felt like him. He no longer knew what _him_ felt like. Thom, then Sam, and now Sarah had pulled the rug out from underneath all of his preconceptions, kept altering his expectations of himself. All he knew right now was that he was lost, had strayed off his path, and a battered and traumatised young woman staring at him with trust in her eyes was the only thing in a long time that had felt real.

The trail led them to an open space. There was a large metal door in the wall with lights and dials imbedded in the tile beside it. There were footsteps and drag marks and blood drops in the dust. Drag marks leading up to that large industrial sized door.

"Oh, God no," Dean whispered, sounding awed, stumbling forward to wrench on the door release with a frenzy Cal couldn't quite understand. Couldn't make space for in his brain.

"Help me," he bit back over his shoulder. He was banging on the door, the metallic clang echoing and loud after the mute hush that had blanketed their movements. It was that which got Cal moving; not Dean's actions or his orders, not any sense of what was going on, but the desire to shut the noise out of the world, and his sense of reality was distorted even more by the fact that when he reached this experienced hunter's side, Cal actually shushed him.

"We don't have time." It was explanation and apology, and even as Dean panted and pushed a light flicked from red to green by his ear and the lock thundered out of place. But Dean didn't look pleased, only grim. "We have to…"

And all hell broke loose.

One second Dean was standing next to him, so close Cal could feel his worried breath in his ear, and the next he was on the floor 10ft away, rolling and punching, a tangle of fists and limbs and snarling expressions, and Cal stood momentarily stunned by the ferial violence. Cute Coffee Shop Guy – the energy sucking whatever-it-was – had Dean reeling in the dust, bodies entwined, and no matter what idle day-dream Cal might have had, there was nothing pleasurable about the sight.

A bronzed fist struck Dean's chin sending his head careening back into the hard concrete floor, and the brute force and the meaty thwack kick started Cal's brain. He had no idea what he was really intending to do, but if he just stood dumb and watched there was no point in him having argued to be here at all.

But as he stepped forward to lend his assistance Dean protested, seeming to gain the upper hand.

"No! Get Sam." Dean dodged another blow and rolled effortlessly to his feet, attention split between his adversary and Cal. "Go!"

At the ­creature's enraged snarl Cal didn't hesitate to obey. It was what he was here for after all – to help Dean get Sam out. He had promised to follow orders and he trusted Dean's assessment of the situation above his own. He had to. His brain was still stumbling along in the wake of events and was not up to assessing much of anything at all.

Trusting Dean to get things under control he turned his back on the struggling pair, fighting down the impulse to turn and see the reality behind each grunt of pain, the slap of flesh on flesh. He could hear the grating clatter of metal along concrete and could picture the gun gliding across the floor as easily as if his eyes had seen it, but then he pulled open the heavy doors before him and he could hear nothing more. The reality in front of him drowned everything else out.

It wasn't until the door was opening and he could feel the cold hissing out from its depth that he made sense of Dean's reaction when he'd seen it; why getting it open quickly had been more important than stealth; had overridden Dean's sense of self – and Cal's – preservation. And in that instant Cal was sorry that he'd shushed him. Sorry that he had not remembered his own disastrous instincts sooner and moved more quickly to help.

Sam was lying on his side in the middle of a vast walk-in freezer, and he was lying still.

Nothing moved. The world stopped so suddenly it made Cal dizzy, and he was sure his heart had stilled. The cold was biting, clawing its way into his skin, his lungs, his head, and he was standing in the doorway, the majority of his body in the dry and the warm.

Sam had been taken hours ago.

The door creaking behind him brought him slamming back into his body. He checked that it would not slam shut automatically and trap him, swallowing his nausea at the blood marring the inside surface of the door, then darted forward into the freezing cold room and dropped to Sam's side.

Sam's skin was pale, almost blue, and his eyes were closed. There was no movement, no anything at all to give Cal hope. Sam's skin was cold to the touch and Cal was reminded fiercely of Thom. Sam looked to be sleeping, almost peaceful – he lacked the overt marks of violence that had shredded his lover's features, and nothing could approach the depth of that grief, but he was reminded of it all the same. Of the sudden stillness of death.

Sam's cheek was resting on the harsh concrete ground, neck tilted slightly, and at the crook of his throat Cal could see the deep purple blossoming of a bruise. The same unusual star shaped marking that had been found on Darrel Young, on Hannah Thompson, on Michael Yorke, and he was almost light-headed with the sudden blinding wave of hate. This thing had taken Sam, had beaten him, bound him, and fed off him, and had left them with nothing but another statistic where there had once been so much life.

He could still hear Dean fighting beyond the doorway, could hear one of them cry out in rage, knew he should be concerned about which it was, but he was numb to it. Violence and death; it followed them around, or they followed it, and Cal couldn't do it. He couldn't be a part of it. Couldn't imagine knowingly choosing this life.

"Cal? What's going on in there?"

Oh God. What was he going to tell Dean..? What could he say? Sam's stillness had robbed him of the strength to form words so he couldn't say anything at all, and he couldn't help but feel that for Dean, the pain of not knowing would be the lesser evil.

"I'm sorry," he murmured to the still form in front of him– the least he could do was accept responsibility for his own part. His fingers were clenching with the cold and his chest was tight; he had to get them out of there and into the warm. He had to get Sam out. He could see nothing past the logic of that.

Cal was slight, and he knew from experience Sam's weight. He didn't know whether to expect it to be heavier or lighter without Sam in it, but he knew it was a weight he couldn't bear. So he rolled Sam onto his back, ignoring the way he limply obeyed, raised him gently by the armpits, and dragged him outside.

Sam's colour looked no better out of the eerie refrigerated glow but he had moved Sam outside. He had got both brothers in the same room, and he had absolutely no idea what to do next.

"Cal! Is he… can you feel a pulse?" Dean's cry was frantic, and maybe Cal should have warned him after all and not just dragged his little brother out in a cold and not moving heap. "Cal!?"

Cal raised his gaze from Sam at last to take in his brother, locking on to fearful eyes. The threat was still circling Dean, baring the way between him and Cal. There was blood lining Dean's features, pouring from his nose and his gait was uneven, but Cal knew the pain of that would not even register.

And then Dean's question broke through the fog in Cal's brain, and he realised the sight that had greeted him had seemed so hopeless he hadn't even bothered to check.

Dean needed him to check.

"Pulse… pulse…" Cal muttered frantically, hands shaking too much as they coasted Sam's cold body to be able to feel much of anything at all. "Oh god… oh god…" Why did Dean have to make him say it? Have to make it so real?

"Well?"

He lifted his head at Dean's tone, making eye contact briefly, unable to face the anguish he found there. "I'm sorry… I can't…" he had to turn away. He could hear the sound of Dean going to work on the - he'd never even been given a name - in front of him, taking out his impotence were he could, but he didn't understand it. Could feel no relief in it. Could feel nothing much at all. His mind, his heart, his hands were all as numb as the body they cradled.

Body…

And something in his awareness fractured.

He ghosted a hand over Sam's face, his cold forehead, needing to commit it all to memory, those already too familiar contours, pushing back his hair and fingering the dark bloody bruise beneath it, feeling too much sorrow to focus on his hate. The old bruises of the night before were still there, fading to yellow, overlaid now by the graze on his chin, the bloody gash on his forehead, and the split lip that Cal couldn't fight the urge to run his thumb across.

That had to hurt.

"Mmm hmmm," Sam agreed, face jerking away from his touch.

"I know," he pulled Sam uselessly closer, the fingers of one hand still hopelessly searching his throat, wanting, needing, to be able to give Dean the answer he craved. The one Cal had come here to be able to give. To feel that proof of life. If he couldn't, then there was no point to any of it, any of the brief stolen months this pair had given him. The direction, the purpose and the drive. He'd been driving at the wrong thing but at least he'd been moving, and he couldn't let it end here. Sam had given him his hope back; Cal would not let him take it from him now.

He'd taken a first aid class in college, distant years previously, and he knew there were things he should be trying, knew he should be moving faster – there were things to do and check. He should try and get Sam breathing, maybe he should start CPR – and that seemed shockingly out of place and intimate – and keep him warm. He had no right to give up before he'd even started. Dean would not give up.

But he could see Dean on the ground with his opponent looming over him, mouth open and preparing to feed. He could see Dean struggling and alive while Sam was cold and still in his arms. And he didn't know what to do. He'd come here for Sam, but maybe it wasn't Sam he was here to save. Dean was in no position to give orders, and Cal was too out of his depth to think for himself.

But Dean was twisting and reaching for his gun, and even as Cal watched two sharp shots made the decision for him.

He'd turned his attention back to Sam even as he heard Dean empty the rest of the clip into his ­­­fallen foe, flinching with the young man beneath his fingers at every shot.

"Shhh, 's ok." He didn't want Sam to be distressed on top of everything else. The being dead part was probably upsetting enough without throwing in loud noises and death screams.

"Mmmmm… I. What? ... Cal?"

"Hey, yeah… it's me," Cal soothed absently, trying unsuccessfully to keep his own grief and fear at bay. He could feel Dean struggling to his feet behind him, checking on the fallen creature, and he knew Dean would need his strength and support. And he wanted to give it as much as he didn't want to be here, didn't want to hear the 'Shit Sam' he breathed out like a prayer.

"'s g'n on?" Sam's eyes had cracked open a slither and were darting lazily, full of confusion, but they were drawn to the sound of Cal's whispered apologies and explanations, settling on his worried face. Cal tried desperately to rein in his own panic.

"Cal?"

But obviously it didn't work.

"I don't want to alarm you," he said softly, leaning close over Sam and drawing his face and gaze more firmly towards him with two gentle fingers to Sam's cheek, "But I can't find a pulse."

"Oh."

Cal's insides clenched at the momentary flicker of fear that over-rode Sam's confusion. He hadn't wanted to admit that, felt that maybe he should ease the poor man in a little bit, but it had been overwhelming knowledge to hold onto alone.

"Oh… well that's not…"

"No," Cal agreed apologetically, with a soothing smile.

"Hmmmm," Sam breathed, closing his eyes and leaning away from Cal minutely, shifting slightly. Cal felt a tingling pressure on his wrist and looked down to see Sam's hand closing weakly around it, pulling it slightly, wearily downwards, shifting the location of Cal's fingers on his neck. Then he pressed lightly against one digit, pushing it into his soft flesh.

"How 'bout now?" he slurred quietly, lips quirking

"What? Oh... yes! Yes, I feel it," Cal exclaimed ecstatically, feeling the blood rushing in his ears, suddenly able to breathe again.

"'s good," Sam murmured, breathing in deep. But as Sam shifted slightly again the breath turned into a gasp and he coughed sharply, eyes widening in alarm.

"Sam? Hey!"

Cal jumped to feel both of Sam's hands clench around his leg, one pawing at his knee and the other gripping his thigh as Sam bit his lip and struggled with the effort of regulating his breathing.

"You need to breathe through it," Cal intoned, fighting once more for calm, "Oh, please god just breathe." Sam was shaking now, not as much as Cal would have expected given the deathly cold of his skin, but enough to make him suddenly hard to hold. But Cal couldn't let go; not when Sam choked out a grimace, unable to keep the pain and dizziness from showing in his face.

"Sam?" Cal tapped him lightly on the cheek, trying to coax him into reopening his eyes, but Sam just whined and rolled into him, trapping his hand between Sam's forehead and his own knee as the other man gripped on tight and tried to ride out the pain.

Cal could sense Dean drawing to a stop in front of him, but the expected words of comfort never came. He lifted his eyes to Dean's face, and once again he couldn't read the expression he found there. Dean's eyes were drawn to Sam's fingers clutching tightly at the material of Cal's jeans. At the instinctive way Sam curled around him, reached out to escape the pain.

And then Sam breathed out slowly, going lax in Cal's arms and almost sliding off his knee. Cal pulled him closer to stop his head from colliding with the cold ground, steadying him, Sam's face coming to rest at Cal's hip.

"Get the hell off him." Dean's words were a strangled growl as he crouched finally at Sam's side. His breathing was laboured and his face bloody, and he winced as he reached for Sam with bruised and split knuckles. That primal protective light was still in his eyes and there was a glow of violence about them that was yet to fade; only now the full force of that gaze was on Cal.

"Wha..?" He'd done what he'd been asked and got Sam out, found a pulse and tried to reassure him. Cal hadn't been expecting an overt display of gratitude, Dean didn't work like that, but he'd thought they'd moved past outright hostility by now.

Dean's expression and posture softened as he gripped Sam's shoulder and pulled his brother towards him with a gentleness that shouldn't have been possible given the look on his face. "It's okay, I got you, I'm here now," he murmured as Sam struggled slightly at this new touch.

"Dean?" Sam mumbled, not opening his eyes, and Cal couldn't tell if he was calling for Dean's aid or acknowledging he was there.

"Yeah, 's me," Dean whispered back, hands gently assessing, eyes both murderously hard and reassuringly tender at the same time.

Cal relinquished his hold on Sam as Dean dragged him away; feeling the loss, feeling unneeded, forgotten, hating the warmth that seeped into him the instant Sam's cold weight was out of his arms. But Dean hadn't forgotten, he was merely prioritising, and his jaw clenched as he took in Sam's hand still resting laxly on Cal's thigh.

Cal sincerely wished that hadn't just made Dean's reaction to him make a sick kind of sense.

"You're the only one thinking it, you know that right?" he pre-empted firmly.

Dean sneered. "Like it had never crossed your mind."

"At this exact moment in time! Are you kidding me?" Yes there were times when Cal had thought about Sam in that way, but he had long ago come to the realisation that he wouldn't want to act on it, even if he didn't know to do so would be pointless. But here? Surrounded by so much fear and pain, Sam stone cold and unresponsive in his grasp, utterly dependent on them to keep him alive… How could Dean even think it?

"You're a real asshole, you know that?" He hadn't been planning on saying it, especially not here and now, not since they seemed to have reached some kind of an understanding. But the creature was dead and the girl was safe, and while Sam might have passed out again Cal could hear him breathing. He could see Dean tending to him, bundling Sam up in his own jacket even as he stared at Cal in fury.

He'd tried telling Dean that he hadn't expected anything physical from Sam, and he'd thought he'd made that clear. Sam needed something, had craved comfort. Cal was sure Sam had seen a hint of what he was after in him - and he had wondered at times – but he had never believed that need would be enough. And Cal would never push, ever.

A lesser man would have backed down in front of the glare he was given, the rage on Dean's face, especially since he knew what Dean's clenching hands were capable of. But he had seen their softness too, knew that Dean was not a bad man, merely conflicted. And Cal had never been one to back away from an argument when he thought he was right.

He was tired of the sideways looks, the innuendo. He expected it from some quarters, was used to it, but Dean had made him capable, had seen him prove his use. Cal had earned his respect the hard way. He would accept it from Dean only if it was meant in jest, and Dean was most definitely not joking.

He was _too_ serious. So close to this he didn't even know what he was mad about.

Cal stood, looking down at Dean for the first time.

"Who exactly are you pissed off at?" he ploughed on, before Dean had recovered from his surprise enough to find words of his own. "Me, Sam, or yourself?"

"Why would I..?"

"Stop looking at me that way. It isn't even me your angry with. You're angry with you. You weren't there. Shit happens. Don't take that out on me."

"He's 23 dude, I don't watch him every second of the day. So don't you dare put this on me. If you hadn't been stalking him in the first place then…"

"That's not what I mean. And that's not why you're mad."

"Oh, enlighten me," Dean drawled.

"You're mad because I can offer Sam something you can't."

"Oh… I'll bet you can."

"You don't think Sam's gay. You don't think he's even bi. So what's he done to make you wonder? I mean, do you really think he'd go there?"

"What? No!"

"You said yourself he could take me, and I think people have a hard time getting him to do something he doesn't want to do. So, do you think I could turn him gay?"

Cal was met with stony silence and a clenched jaw.

"Then you've got to ask yourself what exactly your problem is."

To Cal's immense surprise Dean seemed to deflate in front of him, as though all the fight had just drained away. The hunter was gone in an instant leaving only the brother smoothing back Sam's hair and feeling his forehead, taking in the bruises and damage, frowning slightly at the pulse that had eluded Cal.

"Everyone responds to grief in different ways. There's no shame in that." Dean didn't acknowledge he'd heard him, didn't take his focus off Sam, but his expression hardened momentarily and Cal know he'd heard. Whether he believed it or not was a different matter, and Cal knew forcing that issue was beyond him.

"We should get out of here." Dean set Sam down gently and stood.

Cal had been bracing for a fight; at Dean's words the adrenaline left him and he suddenly wasn't sure he could stand. But Dean was back in control again, and Cal had at least regained the ability to follow orders.

Sam mumbled something as Dean heaved him into a fireman's carry that caused Dean to nod sagely, 'yeah, I know', and pat him on the leg, before asking Cal with his eyes if he was ready.

"Will he be okay? It fed off him…" Cal voiced his fear out loud, noting the way Dean's grip tightened as he did so.

"We need to get him somewhere warm, but he was awake and he was kind of coherent so I don't think he was in there too long. Hopefully he'll sleep it off."

Cal blinked in the weak dawn light as they exited the gloomy prison. The mile to the car passed in a blur of unreality. Dean didn't once complain about his load and his pace never wavered, even as the rate of Sam's shivering increased. Cal checked that he was still breathing a couple of times during the journey but Sam remained unconscious, just thrashed occasionally, and they made it to the car without running into the morning shift and arousing any questions.

Sarah was still waiting for them in the back seat of the car. Cal didn't know whether he was surprised or not. A part of him had expected her to run while she had the chance, but she had been tired and weakened, and Cal knew firsthand the strange level of comfort to be derived from sitting in that car while the world ceased to make sense around you. She was still unsure of them, but Cal approached her first and she felt safe enough to unlock the car and let them in with barely any prompting.

Cal relinquished the passenger seat without question, opening the door but leaving Dean to get Sam settled, having the sense to know that out here in the real world any attempt to help would likely be seen as encroaching on Dean's territory. But he took the truth of that less personally now than he would have, and he knew that Dean's care and attention were not one sided by the way Sam would respond to his words or touch, even if he didn't seem inclined to open his eyes.

He slid into the car beside Sarah, having the sense not to crowd her, knowing not to overwhelm her senses with words; it was solid presence and understanding that had allowed him to feel safe. Sam and Dean had barely spoken to him as they'd driven him home from the park that night, but they had been _there_, and they had seen what he had seen, and not tried to deny it. And that had been a huge first step in helping him feel sane.

Dean disappeared for a minute to rummage in the trunk, returning with a couple of blankets which he proceeded to wrap tightly around Sam's still shaking form. He didn't speak until he had the engine on and the heater up high, Sam arranged on the seat next to him, head and shoulders practically in Dean's lap to share more than just body heat.

"We're going to take you to the hospital, okay," he said slowly, calmly, and Cal could see him striving for eye contact in the rear view mirror. "Cal's going to stay with you. Just to make sure you're okay. The police have been looking for you, there's gonna be a lot of questions." He was looking at Cal now, and Cal knew what he was saying. He was trusting Cal to answer them. And to answer them in a way that was convenient for all of them. He didn't quite know how he felt about that – that maybe it wasn't his responsibility to cover up what had happened to this girl. To keep them off the radar. But he'd wanted to help, and for the first time Dean was letting him unprompted. Was asking him.

But as reassuring as it might be to know that other people believed the truth, Cal was wise enough to know that didn't necessarily mean the truth should be broadcasted. He just hoped he could get Sarah to see that too.

They continued the rest of the way in silence, Cal letting the exhaustion of being up all night, of so much uncertainty – months worth – settle over him.

He might have dozed. He could hear low murmurs from the front seat, a comforting warmth and cadence that soothed him. He could make out no words and knew they weren't for him, this quiet intimacy he might have facilitated but was still intruding on.

He sat up with a jolt when the engine noise muted to find Dean had pulled up close to the hospital's entrance. Sarah was uncertain but he knew he could coax her out, to see their point of view. Maybe he'd known it since she'd first locked eyes with him; that he knew how to help this girl more clearly than how to help himself.

"We'll be at the motel unless… Call me if we need to get moving, okay." Dean issued quietly as Cal prepared to follow her out of the car. He nodded his understanding.

"Talk to you later," Dean promised, and Cal nodded again, not really sure what to do with the knowledge that he seemed to be being accepted now he wasn't sure he really wanted to be, but their approval had been denied while he had strived for it.

"Are you not…?" Cal let his eyes linger on Sam, still shivering and pale in the passenger seat.

"Not unless I have to," Dean said quietly, shifting Sam protectively closer, as though Cal had threatened to take him from the car. Sam whimpered slightly in protest and made a brief effort to break free, before giving in and sinking more deeply into Dean's side.

Cal would have felt more comfortable taking Sam in with them – he was so deathly cold, he'd been beaten and had his energy fed on. This was all new territory for him and he would have felt a lot more comfortable with the reassurance a hospital would provide. But Dean looked exhausted, and worried, and threateningly protective in his stance, and Cal knew better than to ask again.

This was what they did, and he truly believed that Dean would not endanger his brother when there was another option available to him. Sam had enough worry being extended over him; it was time for Cal to turn his attention onto Sarah, alone in this brave new world and more in need of his help.

Nodding his understanding, and taking one last look at the figure huddled in blankets, Cal shut the door.

The Impala didn't drive away until they were inside and out of sight.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Epilogue**

It was some time the next afternoon when Cal finally found himself back outside the Winchester's motel. He'd called Dean from the hospital the previous morning to reassure him that no-one would be asking any questions about their involvement, and that no-one would be investigating the warehouse where the body (which Dean had by then removed) and blood evidence might swing things in their direction.

He'd have been there earlier but Sarah had been reluctant to be alone, only seeming to calm enough to answer questions if she knew he would be close by. When she was finally safe and sleeping Cal had been too exhausted to think about doing anything other than sleep himself.

The Dean that answered the door was bleary eyed and unshaven, but he also exuded a level of peace and calm that had been absent every other time Cal had seen him. One that made all Sam's defences and devotion make sense, and caused Cal to regret some of his more bitter thoughts and words.

Dean strode back into the room leaving Cal to close the door and follow. The curtains were drawn, and when the door was closed the atmosphere was stifling and oppressive, but Dean made no sign that he noticed the warmth. Remembering again the frightening cold of that freezer, of Sam's skin, Cal was grateful for the heat to keep his own chills at bay.

His eyes were searching for the younger Winchester before they had even fully adjusted to the gloom, and they didn't have far to look in the small, functional room the pair were currently calling home.

Sam was a small figure curled under a swath of blankets on the far bed, just a pale face and dark locks peeping out from under the covers. Flakes of dried blood were dotted across one cheek like the worst kind of dandruff, but Cal knew washing Sam's hair thoroughly would not have been one of Dean's main priorities yesterday.

Cal had wanted to see Sam awake and moving, anything to banish the image of him prone on that cold tile floor from his brain. But Sam's hair was partially covering his face, and was fluttering slightly in time with his breath, and Cal would take what he could get.

"Is he..?" he'd taken a step towards the bed but his voice was low and he turned to address the question to Dean. Dean jerked his head in the direction of the small kitchenette at the other side of their room, and when he turned and headed in that direction Cal followed, giving the sleeping Sam his privacy.

"Yeah, he's okay." Dean breathed, leaning back against the kitchen cabinets and scrubbing one hand over his tired face, "He's just exhausted," Dean finished. With one arm wrapped around his middle and his other elbow propped against it, hand still around his mouth and holding his head up, Cal knew Sam wasn't the only one.

"His temperature's pretty much back to normal but he's already wheezing – hopefully it'll just be a bad cold. It fed off him pretty heavily so his energy levels have taken a hammering, but he'll bounce back. And you didn't think he'd piss it off," Dean made eye contact with an affectionate smile.

Cal nodded, allowing his stomach to unclench slightly.

"What about you? Have you slept at all?" he asked.

Dean shrugged and let his arms drop, sighing deeply. "I got a few hours, on and off. But Sam taking a swan dive on the way to the bathroom this morning kinda woke me up, and I've been up ever since."

"I thought…" Cal started, slightly alarmed.

"He just needs to take it easy. And a couple more bruises at this stage aren't really going to make a huge amount of difference." Dean was going for casual, but his eyes betrayed him. "How's Sarah?" Dean asked, turning away to rummage through the cupboard behind him, pulling out a mug and pouring a drink from the steaming coffeepot at his side.

"She's doing okay," Cal told him, moving to accept the drink Dean was now extending in his direction. "I stopped by the hospital this morning. They're letting her go home this afternoon; whatever it did to her there was no lasting damage."

"That's good."

"Physically at least."

Dean shifted awkwardly.

"She isn't going to say anything," Cal assured him. He knew well enough by now that Dean didn't trust easily. Well this time he was just going to have to, because Cal had done what had been asked of him and he trusted that Sarah would keep her word. She needed that trust to heal – Cal would not allow Dean to hinder her recovery by pushing the matter.

"Good."

"Not that you're going to stick around long enough for it to matter?" Cal added ruefully. He knew how they worked by heart.

"Probably not, no," Dean's smile was strained.

They'd been on the road with bleeding wounds, bullet holes and concussions – it was a testament to either how worried Dean was or his faith in Cal that they were still here at all.

By the way Dean's eyes kept straying to the other side of the room; Cal didn't think it was the latter.

The sound of 80s rock music saved him from having to respond, and Dean fumbled quickly in his pocket for his phone. Dean's eyes darted quickly to the bed as he answered the call and he moved forward, craning his neck to check that Sam was still sleeping, before saying a word.

Reassured that Sam wasn't stirring, Dean excused himself with his eyes and left to take the call, closing the door quietly behind him.

Cal stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, uncomfortably aware it now held only him and a defenceless, sleeping, Sam. He'd be lying if he said he'd never thought about it, but those had been idle daydreams; he'd never actually believed he'd be in this situation and he felt guilty, dirty somehow for being there now, Sam so close yet so unaware. For having had these thoughts he knew he would never act on.

It wasn't just the knowledge that Sam didn't want him in that way; in reality Cal wasn't sure _he_ did either. It had been months, but Cal had never really allowed himself to move on. Wasn't really ready to – and the difference between fantasy and physical reality was startlingly brutal. And it was unwelcome.

But Sam was a lot more real to him now than he had been even 48 hours before. There was no unearthly purity and light. His guardian angel had been proven to be a man, an as lost and equally confused man, with all the inadequacies and flaws that entailed. Sam might be better than most he knew, but it was unrealistic and unfair to think that someone so young, someone struggling so much themselves, held all the answers.

He felt no awe or excitement in being here. Not the tingling anticipation he might have expected. Just humbled, and comfortable, and needed. Because he had saved Sam's life, and he had intentionally done so, but that didn't mean he owed Sam anything. It didn't mean there was more for him to do. It didn't matter if Sam opened his eyes or not before Cal left, his job was still complete. Anything else, any other time they got, was just a bonus.

Either Dean had not been as stealthy in his exit as he'd liked or Cal's thoughts were too loud. Or maybe Sam had just sensed the changing presence in the room, felt a shift in the atmosphere acutely enough for it to rouse him.

"Hey," Cal whispered, moving to hover by the bed, hoping to head Sam off before his awareness kicked in fully. "It's Cal. Dean's just outside, he got a call."

Sam's eyes had fully opened and managed to focus on him by the time he'd finished speaking, but there was a time delay between Sam hearing the words and the slight nod of acknowledgement.

"How you feeling? Really."

Sam looked even worse close up than he had the day before, back when white and red had been his main colours and he'd had that sickening bluish haze. Now Sam was still pale but the bruises on his chin and temple were of varying hues of purple and green, the grazes on his cheek and split lip the darker russet of clotting blood.

Sam shifted slightly under the covers and screwed his face up in a wince, hissing slightly.

"Shit," Cal murmured in alarm, looking over his shoulder to the door, both wanting Dean back and worrying what the other man might think he was walking in on.

"That 'bout covers it, yeah," Sam smiled ruefully, reassuring despite the slight slur to his voice, and Cal wanted to be annoyed with that answer, at Sam for still feeling the need to protect him, to keep in his own thoughts and needs and concentrate on Cal's. He would like, just once before he left, for Sam to tell him what he was actually feeling, what he actually needed, to trust Cal enough to let him help – but it felt fitting somehow that they would go out this way, with Sam maintaining his silence.

"I'm gonna be okay," Sam told him, and he smiled, and it wasn't anywhere close to what Cal had wanted, but it was enough.

He nodded past the lump in his throat. It was hard to see Sam like this, to have it visually confirmed how dangerous and how taxing their lives could be. He had lived it, if only for one night, and it had been a terrifying, eye opening experience. One he never wanted to repeat.

He had been desperate to know what he should be doing with his life and had thought Sam was there to provide him with the answer - and he had. It just hadn't been the answer that Cal had been listening out for, and he'd almost missed it. Sam had told him time and time again this was not a life to get into lightly, that there was nothing glamorous about what they did – and the blood and filth and the smell of fear had proved that all to brutally to be true.

But Cal was still sorry to see that dream fade. He wanted it to be true almost as much as he'd wanted it sitting across from Sam in that diner, looking into his eyes and seeing understanding and acceptance in them for the first time in days. He wanted Sam to be the answer he sought, and he wanted to be able to answer those questions he could see locked inside this hunter; the ones he seemed forever unable to vocalise.

But that wasn't his place. Sam might be thrashed, and he might be exhausted, but he looked more at peace than Cal had ever seen him. He and Dean both did. He didn't know what had happened between the two of them since Cal had left them huddled in the front of their car – he doubted somehow that Sam had done anything but sleep – but somehow it had been healing for them both.

And Cal really was going to go. If he wasn't needed here, he had no reason to stay. No reason to ever see Sam again. It should have been liberating; he wanted it to be, but it was still as terrifying a prospect as it had ever been. Knowing his dependence wasn't healthy didn't mean he could snap his fingers and stop needing what Sam represented. But he was an emotional crutch, and it was long past time Cal learnt how to walk alone.

He still had no real home, no job, and no family – none that wanted him – and all the decisions that had brought him here were as clear as ever.

His knees wobbled slightly and he had to sit down before he embarrassed himself and fell to his ass at Sam's feet. He settled himself on the edge of Sam's bed with enough force that it bounced a few times as it adjusted to his weight. Sam hissed again but Cal couldn't have got up if he'd wanted to, and Sam shook his head before Cal could even attempt his apology. The look in Sam's eyes suggested he knew exactly what Cal was thinking, exactly why this was so hard.

Because goodbyes were rarely easy.

The door clicked open behind him and Dean slipped quietly in, locking eyes with Sam, assessing, questioning, before he was even fully in the room. He made no comment about Cal's new seat, and didn't berate him for having woken Sam.

"Who wa' son phone?" Sam questioned sleepily.

Dean shook his head to indicate that it didn't matter, but he answered the question in response to Sam's raised eyebrows.

"Bobby. He has those consecrated rounds ready next time we're in the area. You're so nosy." Then, "We don't have to move."

Sam nodded and relaxed back into the pillow. Cal hadn't even realised that Sam was tense, or what the question had been, until he sagged on hearing it answered.

"W' 'bout you?" he asked, turning his gaze once more to Cal. "When're you headin' out?"

"Actually I was gonna hang around for a few days. _Sarah_ asked me," Cal clarified, turning to Dean, but the elder Winchester's face was deliberately neutral. "She still has a lot of questions, a lot of fears to work through."

"You were good with her," Dean commented, "Knew what she needed to be at ease."

"I've been there," Cal replied. They'd been there once too, they must have, but maybe they'd forgotten that. Or maybe they'd just never had that initial innocence to be shattered. But there was always something else out there, something else to fight, and they could very rarely stay still for long. He'd wanted someone to help him pick up the pieces, and he'd thought that person should be Sam, that he should finish the job he'd started by saving him physically, and save him emotionally too. And he hadn't been alone in that thought. It had been echoed back at him by other lost souls he had met on his travels.

But they had neither the time nor the energy to do it all themselves. If they had to see each case through to completion they would never leave, and there was so much more still out there to do.

And it wasn't just the victims of supernatural incidents that were in need of help. The world was full of confusion and doubt – violent crimes, assaults, and bereavement. There were so many different ways to hurt. The world was full of people that needed someone to talk to; Cal had learnt to see that, and had learnt to listen.

Sam might not have allowed Cal to try that ability out on him, but he had still shown Cal that he was capable of it, in his own way. And he'd said there were ways of moving forwards without turning to hunting. Maybe Cal wasn't as lost as he'd thought.

"And after that, who knows," Cal continued, musing aloud. "Maybe I'll go back to school, see if they've held my place open for me."

San nodded, relaxing further.

"You sure?" Dean questioned. "There might be a job going here, stalking Sam. As a security device. Just until I've saved up enough to get him micro-chipped like a dog."

"Hey! 'm right here." Sam spoke up indignantly.

"Yeah, you are," Dean muttered affectionately.

And it was time for Cal not to be.

"I should go," he blurted out, standing abruptly. After making the decision, finally, it seemed easier to just act on it now, not drag it out. He'd wanted this for so long, to be here, in their inner sanctum, both their guards as low as they would probably ever allow them to go. The idea that he would be here but not want to stay was ludicrous to him even now, and he was aware that if he didn't leave soon he never would. It would always be so easy to convince himself to stay.

"We're gonna hang around for today," Dean told him, "But we'll probably be heading out in the morning." Cal nodded his understanding – he knew what Dean was trying to say. They would be more careful this time, more aware of how he had tracked them. When he watched them drive away he would not be able to hunt them down again. This time when they left, it would most likely be for good.

"Here, take my new number," Sam offered, indicating in the air for a pen.

"It's okay." Cal couldn't believe he was saying this either. "You have mine. And I still have Dean's if ever…" he trailed off, shrugging.

He needed a clean break. If Sam was a mere phone call away he would be forever tempted to call it. But it was a comfort to know he could still get in touch with them if needed. To know Sam could still reach him, and probably would when Cal was ready for it. That they would always be able to send work each other's way. Because as long as people like the Winchesters were around there would be victims in need of someone to talk to, someone who could actually listen.

He clapped Sam's shoulder lightly before turning away from the bed, subconsciously following through on the gesture Sam had been unable to complete all those months before.

He turned back to face from the open door, not so much hesitating as prolonging the moment, savouring it. He had followed Dean into that warehouse, and he had been terrified, but this right here felt like the bravest thing he had ever done.

Dean had sunk into the seat that Cal had vacated, close, relaxed, and a solid presence between Sam and the world. Sam had propped himself up slightly on one elbow to watch Cal leave, and he wondered fleetingly if they were both checking to make sure he really went this time.

He locked eyes with Sam one last time, and received that tentative smile that made his heart clench. Then he walked out of the door and closed it behind him.

Losing Thom was still an ache, constant and undiminished, but Sam was right – without even noticing Cal had somehow learnt to live with it there, forever just brushing the surface.

He had a vague plan, but no real idea where he would go from here, what he would become. But he had the rest of his life to figure it out.

THE END


End file.
